


We Make the Rules

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: Brienne Tarth is tired of being Brienne the Virgin. Brienne is also awkward, shy, has no time for dating, and doesn't want to figure out how to broach the topic of virginity if she ever does date again. Enter Jaime Lannister: her handsome colleague who is also perpetually single, much to Brienne's confusion. But as tends to happen, the perfectly reasonable solution to a perfectly ridiculous problem gets a little more complicated.--“You asked me for a favor.” He places his elbows on the table, leaning over them, getting even closer to her. “And that favor was for me to sleep with you.”Brienne might have a heart attack or vomit, there’s really no way to predict at this point, both seem imminently likely. She miserably answers, “Yes.”Jaime’s eyebrows furrow again, his mouth firming in concentration. It’s possible the most painful part of this entire conversation is how well she knows his face, his expressions, how easily she can read him now.“In that case, I have questions.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BETHANYACTUALLY is ACTUALLY a gift from the heavens. Bless her, she really supported me through this one and, frankly, was so encouraging of the bits I particularly liked that I couldn't resist releasing this little beast into the wild earlier than planned. 
> 
> I have a Lot of Thoughts about the way Brienne's loses her virginity, but I won't bore anyone with the details. 
> 
> This first chapter basically gets the prologue out of the way. It all rolls downhill from there. 
> 
> As always, thank you to the people enthusiastic about my writing. 
> 
> (And yes, the next chapter of _waiting to be consumed by you_ is In Progress)

Brienne waits until they’re alone in the office, busy wrapping up a particularly difficult case before she broaches the subject. She’s been waiting for the best time, and this is as good as it’s likely to get. Even though he does have the first few buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and despite knowing him for nearly five years now, that particular version of Jaime still makes her heart beat just a bit harder. 

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Brienne says, twisting her hands together in her lap. 

Jaime never looks up from the paper he’s reading. “Mmmhmm?” 

“Can you look at me when I ask?” she asks in a rush, not sharply, but a bit desperately. 

Jaime looks up with a raised eyebrow. 

Brienne has regrets. “Wait, maybe don’t look at me.”

Somehow, Jaime’s eyebrow climbs even higher up his forehead and is joined by the other. 

“Never mind,” she mumbles, losing her nerve at the sight of his stupidly handsome face, the weird combination of bemusement and amusement in his expression. 

“Oh no,” he says. “Now I have to know why you look like you’re about to dive off a cliff.”

It’s annoying that she does actually feel like she’s about to dive off a cliff. She planned an entire speech about why this is a good idea, why Jaime should agree to it, and how she’ll avoid letting it ruin their working relationship. Now that she’s faced with actually asking, she finds herself tongue-tied and nauseated.

“Iwantyoutosleepwithme,” she says in one breath, knowing she’ll never get it out if she pauses for clearer enunciation. 

Jaime blinks and cocks his head, the familiar confused dog look that makes her feel too warm. “Can you say that slower?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, what it sounded like is you asking me to sleep with you,” Jaime says slowly, almost as if he’s mocking by speaking just as slow as she spoke fast. 

“Yes.”

Jaime takes a moment to just stare at her. She can feel her face getting hotter and redder with each passing second, but her stomach seems to be lodged somewhere in her throat, cutting off all hope of a response.

“I’ve never heard you go monosyllabic before,” Jaime says, as if now is the perfect time for observations about Brienne’s vocabulary and sentence structure. “_You_ want to sleep with _me_?” 

He says it as if it’s the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard, and Brienne wants to quit on the spot and never show her face in any court of law again, just on the chance he’ll be there. Maybe she’ll move back to Tarth. Her dad would certainly be happy. 

“No,” Brienne says, a bit more quiet than she would like, and far more embarrassed than she can tolerate. 

“You _don’t_ want to sleep with me?” Jaime sounds genuinely confused now, his eyebrows nearly joining in a deep furrow. 

“But you --”

“It was a bad idea,” Brienne interrupts him, desperate to somehow extricate herself from this nightmare. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” 

Brienne looks away from him, blinking rapidly. She will not become emotional over this. She refuses to allow those old memories of humiliation after humiliation in her youth to bubble to the surface after so many years. 

“Look,” Jaime says, more gently this time. She hates when he’s nice. It’s the worst kind of Jaime. “Let’s start from the beginning of this bizarre conversation because I’m a little lost now.”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” Brienne repeats, almost pleading with him. 

Jaime narrows his eyes and Brienne knows with a creeping dread that there’s no way he’s dropping it. Jaime never drops anything. 

“You asked me for a favor.” He places his elbows on the table, leaning over them, getting even closer to her. “And that favor was for me to sleep with you.” 

Brienne might have a heart attack or vomit, there’s really no way to predict at this point, both seem imminently likely. She miserably answers, “Yes.”

Jaime’s eyebrows furrow again, his mouth firming in concentration. It’s possible the most painful part of this entire conversation is how well she knows his face, his expressions, how easily she can read him now. 

“In that case, I have questions.”

Brienne knows better than to engage a lawyer in any sort of request. They can never just give a simple answer to anything if it isn’t written in legal terminology, and even then they’ll argue. She should know, being as Sansa and Arya like to remind her she does it to them constantly.  
Jaime holds up a finger. “Question one: why would us sleeping together be a favor to you?” He holds up another finger. “Question two: why would you ask me to sleep with you rather than saying _we_ should sleep together?” Brienne waits for another question, but he keeps those two fingers raised and looks at her pointedly. 

“Because I’m a virgin,” she says it bluntly, realizing there’s no reason for subterfuge now. She’s already humiliated and Jaime will be like a dog with a bone if she tries to lie her way out of it. He knows her face just as well as she knows his. 

For instance, she knows he looks gobsmacked right now and for the first time in his life, she seems to have rendered him speechless.

After the longest silence of Brienne’s godsdamned life, Jaime finally asks, “Why me?”

“Because I know you.” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and looks away for a moment. 

“Thanks,” Jaime says sarcastically. 

Brienne grunts in annoyance. “Because I’m tired of being the thirty-year-old virgin. I don’t want to think about how to tell someone I date that no one wanted to fuck me before. It’s just this albatross around my neck. I’m Brienne the Virgin and it’s become … it’s humiliating.”

For a terrible moment, a look crosses Jaime’s face that she thinks might be pity, and Brienne thinks about punching him or just running away. 

“But why _me_?” he asks again. “I can’t be the only man you know.”

“I’m pretty sure you won’t go around telling everyone that you did the ugly, pathetic woman at work a favor. You’ll be _nice_ about, you know,” she waves a hand in the air, “about my inexperience.” She blushes furiously. “And you aren’t awful to look at.”

Jaime laughs at that. Genuinely laughs, his insanely green eyes sparkling at her.

“I know the same can’t really be said about me, but there are ways around that, maybe,” she says. Jaime stops laughing abruptly. “If you can’t, obviously, I understand,” Brienne continues, trying not to stammer and failing. “I know you have to be a little attracted to the other person in order to -- to perform. So, it’s okay if you --”

“Okay,” Jaime interrupts her, with a strange, intense expression. 

“O-okay?” 

“Yes, I will sleep with you,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“You will?” 

“Do I need to sign something?” Jaime asks, sounding exasperated with her. 

“Oh.” Brienne’s mind whirls. She didn’t actually expect him to agree. “We could -- I could draw something up…” 

She hasn’t even finished the sentence before Jaime laughs again. But he doesn’t look mocking. Just … like Jaime. 

“Take a breath,” he tells her gently. “As long as you’re sure you want it to be me, we don’t need to make it more complicated.” 

“Of course.” She nods vigorously. She looks at him, at his handsome, kind face, and feels somehow secure in her decision. “Thank you.” 

Something about his smile is a bit rueful before he says, “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me after I do a good job.” His smile changes at that, a dark, heated promise in his eyes.

Brienne breathes out a heavy sigh, nearly squeezing her thighs together at the warmth that suddenly spreads through her abdomen and lower. 

“Are you --” she swallows heavily, “-- are you free tomorrow? I know it’s a Friday night, but --”

“I’m free,” he says firmly. “My place or yours?”

Brienne blinks. She weighs the pros and cons. If he comes to her place, she’ll be more comfortable, secure in her own home — but then, she won’t be able to escape the memories. She’ll just have impressions of them and what they’re going to do with her all the time. “Your place. Eight o’clock?”

“Sure.” Jaime’s face softens, he reaches out, hand hovering uncertainly before wrapping around her forearm. “You trust me, right? It’ll be fun. Good, even.”

He smiles warmly at her, squeezing her arm once before loosening his grip. Brienne suddenly wants to whimper, or back out, or both, as the shadowy image of what they’ll be doing crosses her mind. Instead, she nods, trying to look as confident as she can with her heart threatening to explode in her chest. 

\---

Brienne stands outside of Jaime’s door for what feels like an hour. When she finally knocks, she almost hopes he isn’t home. Jaime has never failed to follow through before, but maybe the Seven are watching out for her for once and will save her from --

The door opens and there’s Jaime. 

She realizes in a rush that she’s actually never seen him out of his work clothes. He’s wearing a soft-looking t-shirt and jeans. It shouldn’t be weird to see him in jeans, but it seems completely bizarre. The fact that she’s never seen the man she’s chosen to lose her virginity to in casual clothing hits her right in the stomach. 

“Hi,” he greets her. 

“Hi.” 

For some reason, she expected him to be all cool and suave, and instead, he seems nervous. His smile is tight and when he pulls open the door and steps aside to let her in, his movements are … stiff. They stand just inside the door, his hands in the pocket of his jeans, hers holding tight to each other. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, finally breaking the unbearable tension.

She wants to laugh. That would be better than the nervous lump in her throat. 

“No.” She can’t imagine being able to swallow anything. Her stomach feels like it’s quivering, not even the fluttering of butterflies, but a stampede of buffalo rumbling through her. It flips over as he closes the barely-there distance between them. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Brienne murmurs as Jaime brushes a lock of hair away from her cheek. He’s so close now, his breath warm against her chin. 

“Isn’t that my line?” he asks, voice low and husky. 

“I just mean if you don’t wa--”

Brienne never finishes her sentence. Jaime goes on tiptoe to capture her mouth with his. She startles for just a moment, her mouth firming against the unexpected onslaught, but then his thumb brushes at her jawline, his mouth gentles just a touch, and she finds herself sinking into it with a soft moan.

She thought it would be strange to kiss him, but it’s not. He coaxes her mouth open, sliding his tongue along her own. It’s not her first kiss--she’s not that pathetic--but it’s the first kiss she’s had where she knows kissing isn’t the end goal. When Jaime steps into her body, molding his to hers from chest to hips, she knows deep in the pit of her stomach that tonight won’t end with questing hands limited to a quick grope over clothing.

Brienne startles when his hand touches her hip. Jaime pulls away to look her in the eye, but instead of taking his hand away, he presses more firmly, the touch no longer a whisper but a statement. He stares her in the eye, but it doesn’t feel challenging; it’s more that he’s searching for an answer, a confirmation. She nods, just slightly, and he kisses her deeply once more. His hand grips her hip and then slowly, almost achingly, he moves it enough so that he can ruck up the hem of her shirt and place his warm palm against bare skin. 

At some point, Brienne loses herself in the embrace. The smell of Jaime surrounds her, his body is hot against her own, and his hands grab and stroke until she feels like she might melt under his touch. He slides one of his hands up her side, cupping her breast, with only the thin cotton of her shirt as a barrier. He makes a choked sound and pulls her tight against him with the hand still at her hip. 

She feels it then, the hard line of his cock against her thigh. She tears her mouth from his with a gasp. The look on his face is intent, heated, his breath coming in pants. It seems stupid, but she’s so relieved she almost wants to cry. 

He wants her. 

It’s not all charity. It’s not just an act. Those noises in the back of his throat are for her. She’s done this to him, and the power of that floods through her entire being in a wave of warmth. He kisses a line from her jaw to her ear, whispering, “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Panic strikes her fast, like being plunged into icy water. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears, her breathing shallow. But she does. Oh, she does. She can’t seem to form the words though, and Jaime’s face grows more serious with every passing, silent second. Finally, she nods and Jaime tilts his head, rubbing soothing circles over her hip. 

“If you aren’t sure --”

“I am,” Brienne interrupts him frantically. She takes a shuddering breath and firmly says, “I am.” 

Jaime smiles. His hand glides down her arm, sending goosebumps along her skin in its wake. He tangles his fingers with hers and steps away, leading her down the dark hallway. Brienne manages to control her anxiety until he flips on the light and she sees his bed. It’s neatly made, which feels like a ridiculous thing to notice. His entire room is spotless, all clean lines and dark wood. 

Her eyes are still darting around, trying to take everything in, trying to center herself, when Jaime tugs on the hand he still holds and murmurs, “Come here.”

She goes to him on shaking legs, letting him draw her into a searing kiss. This time when he slips his hands under her shirt, he keeps raising them until it catches under her arms. She lifts them over her head and lets him pull her top off. It takes all Brienne has not to cover her chest with her hands. 

No one has ever seen her this way. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to look at him, at the disappointment of what her body has to offer. She shivers as he traces fingertips across her collarbone, then draws a line from her shoulder to the curve of her breast. She braces herself for him to touch her nipples, feels them drawing to peaks at the mere thought. 

Brienne squeaks as a wet heat closes around her nipple, the stubble on Jaime’s chin abrades the soft skin. His tongue curls around the peak of her left breast while his thumb strokes over her right. He drags her with him further into the room, his mouth never leaving her skin. She feels like she’s floating, an almost out-of-body experience, except that every inch of her skin tingles with anticipation. 

They stop, Jaime’s mouth finally leaves her skin, and when Brienne’s eyes flutter open, she finds him sitting on the edge of the bed. His lips are swollen and red, his cheeks flushed, and eyes heavy-lidded. She knows he’s waiting again, so patient, so kind, just underlining the reasons she chose him for this. 

She rallies every brave cell in her body and leans down to kiss him, her hands going around his back to pull his shirt up. He eagerly whips it over his head, throwing it behind her. She lets her eyes traverse his bare chest, the muscles that expand and contract with every heavy breath, the hair that tapers into a line that disappears beneath the waist of his jeans. Her eyes linger, the bulge there making her mouth go dry. 

Jaime’s hands meet at the button of her jeans, hesitating until she looks at him. Her hands cover his and for a brief moment she does consider putting a stop to this, the idea of exposing herself completely--of trusting _anyone_ this much--making her stomach sink like a rock. Jaime slides his hands away, a sympathetic smile on his face. 

It’s that sympathy that does it. She unbuttons her jeans, never looking away from his face. He swallows heavily at the sound of her zipper being drawn down. She shoves them off her hips before she loses her nerve, clenching her teeth and staring at him almost defiantly. Only when she squares her shoulders and straightens her spine do his eyes travel from her face, over her flushed chest and stomach until he pauses at the one remaining piece of clothing.

Brienne regrets that she didn’t make herself buy lingerie, something sexy, or at least sexier than her blue boyshorts. Jaime doesn’t seem to mind, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes meet hers again, his hands going to the waist of his own jeans, unbuttoning them and shoving them off, frantic tension in every movement. 

Jaime tugs at her, his hands wrapped around the back of her thighs, and she has no choice but to follow. He draws her into his lap, her legs on either side of his hips. He kisses her like he’s starving, like she’s the only thing that can sate him. His cock is hard against her, and she can’t resist the urge to squirm against him experimentally.

“Gods,” he groans, like a man dying, and in a move she wants to congratulate him on, he has her beneath him, his hips between her thighs, his mouth sucking a bruise onto her shoulder. 

Brienne brings her legs up to cradle him there, no longer embarrassed or scared, just _hungry_. She doesn’t even jump when she feels his hand pressed against that needy place between her thighs. She doesn’t flinch or try to pull away when he says, “Fuck,” against her breast, biting the tender flesh and yanking her underwear down her legs. 

It seems almost like a fight, the jumble of limbs and fumbling grips until they’re both fully naked and his fingers slide into her, his thumb against her clit. 

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” he pants against her ear.

She keens, writhing against his hand. The feel of someone else’s touch is strange and wonderful all at once. He doesn’t touch her in exactly the way she does, those quick bedtime sessions to help her relax into sleep. She always touches herself with only one goal in mind: coming as fast as possible. Jaime touches her like he’s exploring. Like he wants to learn every reaction to every touch, like he wants to discover exactly how to make her breath hitch or her eyes roll back in her head. He curls the fingers within her and flicks with his thumb. Brienne’s back arches off the bed and she calls out, unashamed and overwhelmed.

“I want you,” she says on a guttural moan. “I want to _know_.”

Jaime levers himself off of her, kneeling between her legs. He looks like he’s assessing her and all she can do is leave herself splayed before him, ready and wanting. He leans over her body, opening the drawer by her head. She expected to feel some sort of embarrassment over the minutiae of losing her virginity: the bumps and lumps of the naked human form, her first experience touching a man below the waist, the first time someone else would see her entire body for better or worse. Instead, all she feels is anticipation and a faint hint of relief that one of them knows what they’re doing, and has the presence of mind to cover their bases.

She watches him intently as he rolls the condom into place. Her heart pounds even harder, her muscles tense involuntarily. She wants it and she’s nervous and she feels like she may come apart at the seams. 

He kisses her gently, one of his hands cupping her cheek, running his thumb along her jawline. He kisses until she forgets to be nervous, until she falls into the feeling of him all over again, and only then does he guide his cock to her entrance. He presses into her in one overwhelming thrust. She sucks in a breath and he holds himself still as she acclimates to the feeling. 

It’s not the first time something has been inside of her. She’s thirty, and perpetually single. But the difference between a piece of silicone controlled by her own hand and the feel of holding another person bracketed between her legs, his skin slick with sweat beneath her hands, his breath damp and warm against her neck, his moan as she tilts her hips to accept him vibrating through her own chest -- it’s the difference between night and day, a chasm as wide as the Summer Sea. 

She thinks she could stay like this forever, held close, pulse thrumming, heart pounding, and knowing there’s one other person in the world trapped in the same tumult of sensation. Jaime finally moves, a slow roll of his hips, his chest hair tickling her, so that she’s caught between a giggle and a moan.

Brienne hopes she’ll remember this later, the gentle build-up that leads to a riot of sensation. The sounds of bodies meeting over and over, slick and groaning, panted breaths and nearly animal grunts. There’s nothing delicate about it. There are no rose petals and candles, soft jazz and feather pillows. It’s ugly and human and wonderful, at times punishment and pleasure all at once, a bruising grip paired with a soft kiss. 

He comes first with a groan, shuddering and shaking. In some strange way, it doesn’t matter. Brienne hadn’t thought about losing her virginity being particularly good. It was a box to check. She wanted to get it over with, and Jaime was convenient. But the feeling of him brought to his knees while inside of her is transcendent in ways she had no language for before this moment. 

Jaime pushes himself up to look down at her, eyes intent. He slips out of her, leaving her feeling strangely empty and hollowed out. Without warning, he kisses his way down her body, not pausing to lavish attention on any one spot, and then his shoulders are pressing her legs wide. She has one glimpse of his hungry smile before his face is buried between her thighs, his tongue licking at her with long sweeps from her core to her clit. He finally takes that bundle of nerves between his lips and sucks. 

She falls apart beneath his mouth, not caring how loud she cries out, or how hard she grips his hair in her fists.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what’s great for stress relief?” Jaime refuses to look at Brienne, keeping his eyes on the computer even as his muscles tense with anticipation and no small amount of worry. 
> 
> She looks at _him_, though. He sees her head lift out of the corner of his eye. 
> 
> “Sex,” he answers his own question, too anxious to allow her a chance to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to bethanyactually for her continued patience and support, and to all my friends I constantly annoy with stress 
> 
> ALSO!!! Holy crap, the response to the first chapter has BLOWN my MIND. Thank you all SO MUCH. This is just ... wild.

“What did you do to Tarth?” 

Jaime’s head darts up, a quick shot of panic zipping through his veins. “Nothing!”

Addam raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “That was convincing. I can see why you’re the most feared trial lawyer in King’s Landing. You have an impeccable poker face.”

Jaime scowls, but Addam has known him far too long for intimidation to work. “I haven’t done anything to Brienne,” Jaime says flatly. 

Addam strolls into Jaime’s office, sprawling in the chair across from him. The knowing look never leaves his face. Jaime refuses to give in to the temptation to confess anything. Addam may know him better than anyone, but if Jaime didn’t prostrate himself before Tywin Lannister, he certainly won’t for Addam. 

“I have work to do,” Jaime says, looking away from Addam and typing utter nonsense into an e-mail. 

“Are you dismissing me?” Addam sounds completely unbothered. Jaime cuts his eyes to Addam briefly. If Addam were any more relaxed, he’d fling a leg over the arm of the chair. 

“Yes.”

Addam huffs. “Look, you and Tarth have managed not to have one of your fights for--” Addam pauses, and then in a tone of actual wonder says, “I can’t remember the last time this happened.”

“I told you,” Jaime says, voice tight with aggravation. “I didn’t do anything to Brienne. We didn’t argue. We didn’t fight. Everything is fine.” 

Addam actually narrows his eyes at Jaime, lips thinning with irritation. “Fix it.” Jaime opens his mouth to protest, but Addam cuts him off before he has a chance. “I don’t care what you did. Tarth is our best attorney, and you two are the best team we have. Apologize. Even if you think she’s at fault, apologize and make it right.” 

“I didn’t realize I was your employee.” Jaime knows he sounds petulant, and that would bother him, except that somehow this has turned into Addam lecturing him like he’s a child. 

“You’re not. You’re my _friend_. And as _your_ friend, I am asking you to make this right so that we can go back to our pleasant working environment.”

Jaime stares at Addam. He wants to tell Addam the truth. That it wasn’t a fight. That it turns out, relieving your co-worker of their virginity can make for an awkward following week at work. That he may have gotten himself in over his head. That he was lonely and horny, and that he _likes_ Brienne. That it made his stomach churn to even think of her having a bad first time with some asshole that wouldn’t appreciate her or take care of her. 

Truth be told, Jaime didn’t think much about Brienne sexually before. She’s always been this imposing, stubborn, self-righteous, intelligent, capable, determined co-worker. 

But Brienne is…touchy. The few times he’s brushed against her past--or even her current personal life--in an attempt to get to know her, she’s immediately shut down. She scowls and flushes and finds any reason whatsoever to escape the conversation. He’s _still_ dying to know how her nose was broken, if it was more than once or just a particularly bad break. And that’s just the tip of the mountain of information he wonders about. 

Jaime realizes Addam has been waiting too long for him to answer when he says, “I’ll fix it.”

“Good.” Addam still looks doubtful, but he levers himself out of the chair and knocks a knuckle against Jaime’s lacquered desktop. “I sent you an invite to a meeting at three for us to go over the Greyjoy deposition.” 

“Aye, aye, cap’n.” 

\--

“Brienne!”

Brienne stops in the hallway, stiffening before turning to face Jaime through the open doorway. He gestures to the seat across from him. He watches her swallow heavily, can see the anxiety in her expression before she schools it into something calmer. She hesitantly walks into his office. 

“Close the door, please,” he says. 

Her eyes widen, startled for just a moment before she turns and shuts the door softly behind her. She takes a breath before moving to sit down. She folds her hands in her lap, primly crosses her ankles, and for a moment he’s so fond of her and all of her Brienne-ness he almost smiles. 

Jaime finds himself tongue-tied. There are too many questions he wants to ask, but none of them seem like a good starting point. So, instead, what he says is, “Addam thinks we’re fighting…again.” 

Brienne looks startled. “Why?”

“Because we’ve been acting weird, apparently.” Jaime gives her a lopsided smile, hoping to take the edge off so it doesn’t seem so much like an accusation. 

“Oh,” Brienne says, nearly silent. 

Jaime watches her knuckles turn white as she grips her own hands. He sees the flush that tinges her neck pink. It reminds him of things he shouldn’t be thinking about at work. That he probably shouldn’t think about at all. 

“He also told me to fix it. I’m to apologize to you for whatever I did to piss you off.”

Her mouth twitches, as if she wants to smile but won’t let herself. “What will you tell him?” 

“I’ll tell him what he wants to hear.” Jaime shrugs. “That I was an asshole. I apologized, and you, with your endlessly generous nature, have once again forgiven me.” Brienne starts to nod, but Jaime raises a finger to pause her. “But we need to--to find a way to get past this.” Jaime waves a hand between them. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Brienne says, tilting her chin in feigned confusion. 

Jaime stares at her. It’s an old habit. They both know how to harness the power of an uncomfortable silence to their benefit. Addam might not believe it, but they’ve managed to have heated confrontations that involve no more than ten words. 

Neither of them flinches for what feels like hours. 

He sighs. “How are you?” he asks softly. 

Brienne eyelids blink rapidly, if she were someone else, he would classify it as fluttering. Instead, it’s more the anxious beating of a hummingbird’s wings. 

“I’m--” She stops, myriad fleeting expressions pass over her face before she all but deflates, her carefully held posture slowly relaxing to almost normal. “I’m okay.”

“Only okay?” he asks, a weak attempt at humor and an even weaker smile on his face. 

She briefly glares at him before glancing away, as if something out the window caught her eye. When she meets his gaze again, her irritation has calmed once more. “Thank you.” 

Jaime is starting to think that confusion will become his most familiar friend. “What?”

“I didn’t thank you before I left.” She flushes gently, the pink flooding from her neck to her cheeks. “You said I should thank you after--” her eyes widen just slightly, “after you--you know--it was nice.” 

“Nice?” Jaime knows he shouldn’t be offended. She’s clearly uncomfortable and trying to compliment him. But…_nice_. “Damned with faint praise.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

He shouldn’t be taking pleasure in her ever-deepening blush, and yet. 

She all but mumbles, “You were…kind. 

“Kind.”

“Very giving.”

“Giving.”

“And thorough.”

“_Thorough_.”

“_Jai_me!”

He laughs then. A real laugh. Maybe too loud, but fully sincere. It takes a moment, but Brienne laughs softly, too. Her blush doesn’t completely cool, but it does fade.

“I know it’s awkward,” he says, “but can we both agree to try to go back to the way we were before?”

“I’d like that,” she admits, relief clear in her tone. 

He feels it, too. It doesn’t bear consideration, how much he would miss her if they couldn’t dispel the awkwardness. She’s become a bit of a fixture in his day-to-day life. 

“In that case,” he says, sarcastically stern. “Get to work, Tarth. These cases won’t defend themselves.” 

She smiles at him, genuine and bright and Brienne, before rising from her chair, and making to leave his office. 

“Oh, and Brienne?” She pauses and looks over her shoulder. “Take it from someone who knows, it was better than nice. It was--” his stomach tightens and she looks almost anxious. “It was _really_ fucking good.”

There’s that blush, furiously sweeping across her skin. He looks down and flips through the papers on his desk until he hears his door open and her footsteps fade.

\--

The Greyjoy case creeps along for an excruciating three weeks. Normally, Jaime would go home, drink just shy of too much scotch and finally sleep for a fitful four hours on a good night. On a bad night… 

_Normally_, he isn’t plagued by thoughts of Brienne’s strong thighs holding him to her, or the taste of her on his tongue. They have gone back to normal. They work hard, argue over small details, both stubborn to the point of ridiculousness, both always convinced they’re right. Somehow that produces great results. The rest of the firm stays perplexed by this, but the results are good enough everyone rolls their eyes and lets the sniping and arguing continue unabated. 

Right now, Jaime can’t tear his eyes away from the way Brienne pulls her full lower lip between her teeth while she goes over her notes for the thousandth time, gnawing at the chapped skin until he’s worried it’ll bleed. 

Gods, all he wants is to shove that ridiculously conservative skirt up her thighs, wedge himself between them and feel the heat of her against his cock. He wants to kiss her until she’s wet and writhing and sink into her as she wraps those long limbs around him, surrounding him.

However, he’s technically her boss, and there’s a big difference between Brienne asking him for a favor, and him propositioning her. Jaime’s well aware of the sort of power he has over her professionally. He has never--not once--imagined using that power over any employee. He’s known too many Robert Baratheons and Aerys Targaryens in his day to risk the possibility that any of his employees would think they couldn’t say no--the very idea is repulsive.

But she’s there, and even though things have settled back into their regular rhythm, she still blushes every time they lock eyes, and every single time it makes him flush with _want_. They’ve been swamped since that night, working miserable hours, and so wrapped up in preparations for trial, that he’s barely had time to think about-- 

No, that’s a lie. He’s thought of little else nearly every night. He’ll wrap his hand around his cock and jerk off to the memory of Brienne over him, under him, her fingers tangled in his hair, the sounds of her pleasure echoing in him. 

“You know what’s great for stress relief?” Jaime refuses to look at Brienne, keeping his eyes on the computer even as his muscles tense with anticipation and no small amount of worry. 

She looks at _him_, though. He sees her head lift out of the corner of his eye. 

“Sex,” he answers his own question, too anxious to allow her a chance to respond.

Unfortunately, silence descends again and Jaime finally lifts his eyes to meet hers. Her cheeks are tinged pink, her eyes wide and startled, but it’s her soft, full mouth that makes him lick his own lips. She blushes even brighter as she tracks the swipe of his tongue. Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound escapes.

_Shit._

“I’m sorry.” Shame is not a feeling Jaime rejoices in; rather, it’s a sinking stone in the pit of his stomach. “That was completely out of line.”

“Are you--” Brienne pauses, draws her bottom lip over her teeth, leaving it an angry dark pink. “Are you _offering_?”

He quirks an eyebrow and tracks the faster rise and fall of her chest. “Are you accepting?”

There’s a wariness to her expression when she replies, her shoulders tense and square. “That’s not an answer.”

Jaime’s own breathing becomes shallower. He swears he can feel the tension in the air like static before a lightning strike. One of them has to be brave. Last time, she was brave. This time, it’s left to him. 

“Yes.” He says it as plainly as he can: firm, sure, confident. “That was an offer.”

“Then yes, I accept.”

\--

Brienne follows him home. 

He tells himself the entire drive to take it slow, to ignore the urgent need building inside him with every passing mile. 

He fails. Completely.

They’re barely through the door before he has her against a wall, kissing her for all he's worth. Brienne seems just as desperate, pulling him in and hungrily licking into his mouth, frantically yanking his tie loose. She fumbles at the buttons of his shirt as he struggles to unzip her skirt. 

They stumble to his bedroom, never breaking the embrace, shedding the rest of their clothing along the way. Then she’s on his bed, her blonde hair a halo on his pillow like some fallen angel, naked and magnificent. She pulls him on top of her, legs wrapping around him, her hips bucking up against him. 

He wastes no time in rolling on a condom, the yearning to be inside her too consuming, eclipsing all thought of being patient. He finally, _finally_ presses into her, her comforting heat surrounding him. She sighs and drags him even closer.

He at least has the presence of mind to slip a hand between their bodies, finding her slick with desire. He strokes her clit and she keens, her fingernails digging into his back with the pleasure of it. When she comes, her body trembling, quaking against him, she wraps her arms around him tightly enough it nearly hurts. She doesn’t loosen that hold, still softly moaning as he continues to move within her. He can feel his own orgasm coiling within him. He pushes himself up far enough that he can see her face, a rapturous sort of pleasure still twisting her features. She’s completely free in this moment, and for the first time, the word that turns in his mind is _beautiful_. 

He shifts until he can set the back of his fingers against her cheek. Her eyes open, and the unrestrained, bare desire in her gaze twists in his chest until his own eyes close as he comes with an aching groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, this chapter also wouldn’t exist without the guidance of Avril Lavigne’s classic hit ‘Hot’. Thank


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time she shows up at his place, she genuinely hopes that this is the time she’ll keep her cool. This time, she won’t melt like butter at the first rumble of his voice. This time, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles won’t send heat through her veins. This time, the warmth of his body next to hers won’t make her skin crave his touch so much it nearly aches. This time, she won’t moan, and cling, and writhe against him the second his mouth is on hers. 
> 
> This isn’t that time. 
> 
> Jaime doesn’t _laugh_; he doesn’t even really chuckle. She doesn’t have a perfect word for the amused noise he makes as he moves forward to kiss her. She sighs into it, her body molding to his like it’s the millionth time they’ve done this, like her body just knows how to fit to his now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to bethanyactually, who is a champ and always comes through even she’s busy, and even when I’ve written sections on my phone. She is terribly patient with me. 
> 
> More thanks to every single commenter on this fic. It has been SO encouraging. I hope every single one of you continues to enjoy these hot dummies.

It keeps happening. 

It’s not _regular_. It’s not as if they have a weekly appointment to meet at Jaime’s on Friday nights, have a (sometimes-not-so) quick roll in his bed, and then an awkwardly reserved parting of the ways that always feels like it _might_ end in a high-five this time. 

Still, it’s regular _enough_. 

Brienne has gone from being a thirty-year-old virgin to a thirty-year-old with a tentative sexual...arrangement...with her boss. It’s really not a situation that Brienne ever imagined she’d be in. She’s a modern woman. She doesn’t judge anyone else for their sex life or lack thereof. It’s just that she never pictured being in a--a-- 

She really _doesn’t_ know what to call it.

They aren’t friends with benefits. That would imply an overarching friendship that simply doesn’t exist. They’re co-workers. Well, he’s her boss, but he never treats her as an employee, really, as someone with less power. 

They might be _fuck buddies_, a term that Brienne still can’t quite fit into the jigsaw puzzle that is her life. 

Yet she finds herself standing in the sexual health aisle of a drugstore, staring at the baffling array of condoms, because it occurred to her that Jaime might be running low. As she has played a fairly prominent role in the usage of said condoms, it’s only fair that she replenishes his supply. Otherwise, it’s like showing up at a potluck without a dish, expecting to eat everyone else’s food without doing any of the work yourself

Or something like that. 

There are just so many options: ribbed, lubricated, ultra-thin, _warming_? 

She has no idea how long she’s stood there, staring at a wall of multi-colored boxes, before someone beside her clears their throat. She startles and looks over to find an employee who still has _acne_. 

“Uh, do you need help?” Oh god, and _braces_. “Ma’am?”

The only thing that keeps her from dying on the spot is the knowledge that if she makes a choice and leaves, this entire ordeal will have a purpose. She’ll go to Jaime’s. They’ll put the hard-earned contraceptives to good use. It will all be worth it. As long as she stays alive.

“My--” she stops, stuttering on the next word. She just can’t say ‘fuck buddy’ aloud, especially not to a shop clerk who is probably still a teenager. “My...partner...usually does,” she gestures to the rack of condoms, “this.” 

The clerk’s face turns a hideous mottled red, but as if he’s well-paid for this sort of foolishness and is determined to earn his salary, he reaches out and plucks a purple box off a hanger and hands it to her. “My girlfriend likes these best,” he mumbles.

Brienne, never more thankful in her life for a brief explanation, takes the box from him with a murmured, “Thanks,” and all but runs to the checkout till. 

\--

Jaime opens the door, that smile on his face that makes her pulse throb. She _knows_ now what that smile means--what it means for _her_. 

It only falters slightly when she shoves the bag in his direction. He takes it from her, peeks inside, and snorts. He looks up from the bag with an expression that seems _fond_. 

“Did you have some ideas you wanted to share?” He checks the bag again. “Or maybe twelve ideas?”

She nearly whimpers at the thought of what must be running through his head. She’s embarrassed, but mostly she’s aroused. Her mind tries to supply twelve scenarios of how he could touch her, how she could touch him, how they could…

“I just thought--” She swallows and flicks a quick glance at the bag. “It only seemed fair.”

“Fair?”

She’s gotten pretty good at working out when he’s actually confused versus when he’s teasing her, so she knows he’s genuinely perplexed. 

“In case we--you--were running low.” She shrugs, desperately trying to affect a casual tone. “I’m using them as much as you are.” It hits her as soon as she says it that she’s implied some level of exclusivity to this. When obviously--_obviously_\--there is none. “Not that--I’m--we’re--I’m using them as much as you are when _we_’re--” She knows she looks like a startled rabbit, tripping over her words, trying to smooth out the awkwardness and making it only more so.

Every time she shows up at his place, she genuinely hopes that this is the time she’ll keep her cool. This time, she won’t melt like butter at the first rumble of his voice. This time, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles won’t send heat through her veins. This time, the warmth of his body next to hers won’t make her skin crave his touch so much it nearly aches. This time, she won’t moan, and cling, and writhe against him the second his mouth is on hers. 

This isn’t that time. 

Jaime doesn’t _laugh_; he doesn’t even really chuckle. She doesn’t have a perfect word for the amused noise he makes as he moves forward to kiss her. She sighs into it, her body molding to his like it’s the millionth time they’ve done this, like her body just knows how to fit to his now. 

“Thank you,” he says, still so close his lips brush hers with each word. “This was very thoughtful.”

He kisses her again, and wraps an arm around her waist. The bag still in his hand rustles, the cardboard box bouncing off her ass as he pulls her with him to his bedroom. 

\--

Brienne can feel Jaime’s eyes on her as she searches for the rest of her clothing. Her shoes, she knows, are by the door somewhere. She has her skirt, her underwear, her shirt. The jacket is also by the door, but her bra--_that_ has disappeared. Jaime is just staring at her from the bed. Whatever heated passion had overridden her awkwardness when his hands were on her, certainly doesn’t carry over to the post-sex stumbling-around-to-find-discarded-clothes bit.

She’s finally relented and knelt to look under his bed when he says, “Brienne?”

“Yeah?” she replies distractedly.

He doesn’t respond, so she pops her head back up to look at him. He’s rolled over onto his side, head propped on his hand, the sheet slung so low it barely covers him. He pats the bed, his mouth curled into a lascivious little smile. “C’mere.”

Brienne lifts an eyebrow.

Jaime pats the bed a little more firmly. 

Brienne rolls her eyes. “What?” she asks shortly. “I’m trying to find my--”

“I know what you’re trying to find,” Jaime interrupts her. “Come here, _please_.”

The please is half-sarcastic, half-sincere, but Brienne stands up anyway. 

“Not there,” Jaime persists, exasperation thick in his voice. 

Frustrated, Brienne replies, “I’m not leaving my things here, so unless you’re hiding--”

“Seven hells, Brienne,” he says, as if he’s actually _annoyed_ with her. As if he’s not the one being aggravating beyond even his typical self. “Just come over here.” 

She clenches her teeth, but does as he asks, if only so he’ll shut up and she can finish getting dressed. Unfortunately for her, he’s on the other side of the needlessly large bed, leaving her with two unpleasant options: trying to kneel walk her way across the bed in a tight pencil skirt and unbuttoned shirt, or crawling toward him like...like a baby. 

The knee-walk it is. 

She’s barely made it a couple of inches toward him when something in his eyes shifts. His eyes move from her face to trace over the rest of her body, pausing briefly at the strip of skin visible where her shirt is hanging open, and then lingering at where her skirt has ridden up her legs. She licks her own lips and finishes her journey with a thumping pulse.

Only then does his gaze travel back up to her face. She recognizes the hunger there, has seen it on more than one occasion now. But not like this, not when they aren’t touching, not when she’s not delirious with pleasure already. It makes her feel exposed, almost confused. No one has ever looked at her the way Jaime looks at her.

There’s a breathless, hung moment where neither of them moves. She can feel herself getting wet, the tension between them and the smell of sex that still lingers in the air seeming directly connected to her core. 

Jaime sucks in a breath, and then his free hand wraps around her arm and tugs. 

Brienne goes willingly, letting him drag her into a deep kiss. His hand slides down until he’s gripping her thigh and pulling her to straddle him. He’s already hard, his cock pressing against where she’s slick and ready. 

“Again?” she asks, breathless, and wondering.

He looks like sin itself, hair mussed, his body taut beneath her, but his face somehow a blend of satiation and hunger. 

“Gods, yes.” He shifts beneath her, only enough to tease. The smile on his face is one that used to be aggravating--too knowing, too charming--but now it just feels as uncomplicatedly good as his body against hers. “I wouldn’t want your thoughtfulness to go to waste.”

Her breath catches in her throat when his hands slip beneath her skirt. She reaches for a condom from the box she bought as he pushes the shirt off her shoulders, freeing one arm and leaving it tangled on the elbow of the one trying to tear free one foil packet from the line. His lips are wrapped around her nipple, tongue circling the stiff peak, sending tremors of pleasure down her spine. 

Brienne leans back, hands the foil packet to Jaime and lies back on the bed. She watches, flushing with desire, as he rolls the latex down his hard length. She waits for him to slide over her again, press himself between her thighs, but instead, he turns and pulls at her hip, coaxing her to lie on her side too, drawing her in for a deep kiss.

She strokes her tongue against his, whimpering at the taste of him, distracted enough that she doesn’t realize at first that he’s tugging her to straddle him once more. Her stomach turns over when she’s on top again. 

Brienne shakes her head, keeping herself tight against his body. It’s strange, but the idea of being on top of him, with him staring up at her as he thrusts into her, his face not just buried in her neck or against her breasts...it’s too much. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice husky against her ear. 

“I--” her voice sticks in her throat. She doesn’t want to admit the real problem, that she knows how ugly she is, that she won’t look like other women he’s been with. She isn’t all curves and graceful lines. She’s thick-waisted, muscled; her breasts won’t bounce enticingly, her body won’t be soft and light above him. “I’ve never--I don’t know--it won’t be good,” she finally murmurs. 

“It will.” Jaime presses against her cheek until she turns and he can capture her mouth in a searing kiss. He uses his other arm to push them both into a seated position, so she’s in his lap. He kisses and bites at the juncture of neck and shoulder until she’s writhing and moaning against him. When she’s nearly dizzy with pleasure, he leans away from her. His breath pants against her, damp and warm. “If it’s not, we’ll stop, okay?” His thumb rubs a heavy circle against the jut of her hip bone. “But gods, I want you to try.”

Her heart stops and then pumps wildly against her ribs. She swallows heavily at the look in his eyes, almost vulnerable. 

“Okay.” 

He kisses her heavily again, shifting them both until he can slide into her for the second time that night. The sensation of him filling her, her body already tender, steals the breath from her lungs. 

“Oh,” she whimpers and clings to him as he rolls them together in a gentle rhythm. 

They move together, and it is good, maybe better than him on top of her, or at least a different sort of good. When he finally lies down beneath her, hands at her hips, helping her keep up the rhythm, she forgets to be self-conscious. The look on his face isn’t false, the hunger and the--she doesn’t even want to put the word to it, but her gut tells her it’s nearly reverence. 

He grips her so hard when he comes with an aching, lingering groan, that she knows she’ll have marks from his fingertips on her pale skin in the morning. When his eyes blink open again, he has a smile on his face of such satisfaction, she feels like she’s won a victory. 

He takes her hand in his own and guides it between them, moving their fingers in tiny circles until she finds her own release at the touch of their joined hands.

\--

“Uh, what’s that?”

Brienne looks up to find Sansa pointing in the general direction of her chest. Brienne glances down, confused, expecting to find a dollop of pizza sauce or some other stain, but there’s nothing there. “A shirt?”

Sansa huffs, annoyed. “No. What’s _that_?” She reaches over and pokes a place on Brienne’s shoulder where her shirt has slipped. 

Brienne checks, only to find a purple-pink bruise. Her mind races, trying to come up with some plausible explanation that doesn’t involve Jaime’s lips and teeth, but it’s plainly not from kickboxing, and she could never claim a doorknob—

“Is that a _ hickey_?” Sansa asks, eyes practically dancing with delight. 

Brienne’s blush is answer enough. 

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were dating someone?” Sansa’s excitement is_ almost _offensive. Almost, because Brienne doesn’t date. She’s nearly as celibate as a Septa, and Sansa has been desperate to find her someone for almost a decade now. 

“I’m not,” Brienne finally says. “It’s not--”

“I think I know a hickey when I see one,” Sansa interrupts. “You’re also as red as a tomato. Who is he? Or she? Who are they?!”

“I’m not dating anyone!” Brienne is vehement enough that Sansa looks genuinely startled. “It’s not dating. We’re just--it’s--” She still stumbles when it comes to putting an exact label to what she has with Jaime, and the idea of telling Sansa she has a _fuck buddy_... “We’re just...sleeping together.”

Sansa looks as if Brienne just told her it was snowing in Dorne. “Who--who is he?” 

Brienne chooses not to answer. 

Sansa’s face quickly transforms from surprised to suspicious. “Brienne, who is he?” she demands. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” Brienne says quietly. She knows what Sansa’s thinking. Sansa thinks what everyone would if they saw her and Jaime together: that it’s some weird pity fuck situation. That she’s the port in a storm who will take anyone, even if it’s just a quick fuck that they keep secret. “Really, Sansa, it was my idea.” 

Sansa looks even more skeptical at that. 

“Please,” Brienne says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I promise you. I propositioned him.” 

“Is he the one that wants to hide it?” Sansa asks, an edge of accusation in her voice.

“We’re not hiding it.” Brienne knows it’s a lie even as it trips off her tongue. “It’s just not anything worth talking about.”

“Then why won’t you tell me who they are?” 

Brienne’s mouth feels as dry as a desert. “You don’t know them.”

Sansa’s face falls, hurt dulling the ire. 

“I won’t judge you,” she says, reaching over to wrap her delicate hand around Brienne’s forearm. “No matter who it is. But my best friend lost her virginity, apparently has continued to sleep with the person for however long, and she won’t even give me a name. I’m worried.”

“I—” Brienne _wants_ to tell Sansa. She needs to talk to _someone_ about it. She never thought that being with someone could feel like it does with Jaime. That she could let go of so many doubts about herself and her appearance and her femininity. Especially not in front of, truly, the most attractive human she’s ever met. But she does. When they’re together, it’s like the whole world is drowned out, even the voices of those people that mocked her relentlessly during her most vulnerable years. The voices of boys and men who called her ugly, manly, and too boring. 

None of that matters when Jaime’s mouth is on her, his teeth pressing into her skin, his mouth sucking red blossoms into pale flesh as he makes his way down her body. But she can’t tell Sansa. Jaime is her boss, and she’s well aware of how it would look. Just another young woman seduced by a powerful man who hides her, who is ashamed of her. 

“I just can’t, Sansa. I’m sorry.” 

Sansa’s mouth draws into a moue. Brienne wants more than almost anything to fix it. She always fixes it. She has so few friends in this world, she can’t afford to shut out the few she does have. She watches Sansa draw in a deep breath and close her eyes. When she looks back up at Brienne, her face is as placid as a lake. It makes Brienne’s gut twist. She recognizes the expression on Sansa’s face, the carefully composed mask she uses to hide her true feelings. 

“I’m here for you,” Sansa says, her tone warmer than Brienne expected. “When you’re ready to talk about it, you know I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Brienne says, vehemently. She reaches over and hugs Sansa. Sansa wraps her arms tightly around Brienne and holds on a fraction longer than normal. “I swear to you, I’m okay. I’m just not ready to share.” 

Sansa nods against her shoulder. “I trust you. I just wish--” She pulls away from Brienne to look at her, searching her face as if trying to figure out what Brienne isn’t sharing. 

“I know,” Brienne says, not needing Sansa to finish her thought. “When I’m ready.”

Sansa nods and smiles crookedly at Brienne. “I get to pick the movie tonight.”

Brienne groans, already knowing she’s in for whatever the most melodramatic, tragic movie is where someone dies of a terminal illness in their wedding dress. 

“You owe me.” Sansa points an accusing finger at Brienne, but some of that carefully constructed blankness has faded. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Brienne grumbles. “Do your worst.”

Sansa laughs. “Oh, I plan to.” 

Despite her best efforts, Brienne is distracted for the entire movie. The thing with Jaime has been so contained, as if it’s something she can keep for herself, something just between the two of them. Sansa’s hurt, and the sinking feeling in the pit of Brienne’s stomach at lying to her friend about something that has become a not-insignificant part of her life—she’s been forced to see the stark reality that whatever she and Jaime are doing, it can’t last. Maybe she’s been lying to herself the entire time, telling herself that she can manage it, that it’s no big deal. But Sansa can’t know, none of her friends can know, and if anyone at work ever discovered what was going on—either she would be completely fucked, or Jaime would be, or maybe both of them. 

Stupidly, though, she can’t quite bear the idea of ending it. Not just yet. Not when she finally feels good in her own body. Not when she gets to experience the heady power of knowing someone wants her. She knows life isn’t fair--it never has been for her. But for the first time in her life, she wants to be reckless, to take something and not spend every moment wondering if it’s the best choice to make. And she wants Jaime, even if it’s only this fraction of a relationship. It will be enough. It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that _waiting to be consumed by you_ is finished, I plan on dedicating myself to this entirely. No more concurrent WIPs! Hopefully! Maybe! My goal right now is to post every Friday. So. Cross your fingers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is … off. 
> 
> Jaime doesn’t know what it is. She shows up in the same sensible suits, her eminently practical shoes, her hair in the same no-nonsense bun. Still, there’s something in the way she holds herself when they’re in the same room that isn’t quite right. He can’t put his finger on it, and it’s driving him a little crazy. He doesn’t want to pry, especially if what she needs is a bit of space, but it gnaws at him.
> 
> He lasts a grand total of three days before he finds himself hovering in the doorway of her office. “Do you have a minute?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK you again, always, eternally, infinitely to bethanyactually who is a literal superhero and betas SO quickly for me. It's astonishing, and I am endlessly grateful to her. 
> 
> Thanks also to everyone that has supported this story, both here _and_ on tumblr. It's been so wonderful. 
> 
> I think I might have my writing groove back? This story brings me joy to write it, and I truly hope that comes across to the readers.

Brienne is … off. 

Jaime doesn’t know what it is. She shows up in the same sensible suits, her eminently practical shoes, her hair in the same no-nonsense bun. Still, there’s something in the way she holds herself when they’re in the same room that isn’t quite right. He can’t put his finger on it, and it’s driving him a little crazy. He doesn’t want to pry, especially if what she needs is a bit of space, but it gnaws at him. 

He lasts a grand total of three days before he finds himself hovering in the doorway of her office. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her. There’s that feeling again. Everything seems perfectly normal, her jaw doesn’t clench, her brows don’t furrow, but there’s a faint coolness about her. 

He eases into the room, taking a seat across from her and just looks, searching for any sign that the detachment he feels is imagined. “Are you okay?” 

She blinks and subtly jerks back. “Of course.” Her brow does furrow then, soft little divots right above her nose. “Why?”

“You’ve just seemed…” he shrugs. 

Her mouth draws down into a soft moue. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy,” he repeats, not able to keep the disbelief out of his tone. Brienne. _Busy_. They’re _always_ busy. 

“Not with work,” she says. Her eyes dart away for just a moment, a tell-tale sign that she’s lying, or at least holding back. 

“Oh.” He doesn’t want it to sting that she doesn’t offer any further explanation for what this non-work distraction is. “But you’re okay, it’s nothing…” 

“No, no.” Brienne shakes her head. “Nothing’s _wrong_, just … busy.” 

“Well,” he says and braces his hands on the arm of the chair to stand. “I hope things slow down.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, small but genuine. 

He leaves with an unsettled feeling deep in his stomach.

\--

Jaime doesn’t invite her to his place on Thursday or Friday, and she doesn’t mention it either. He wants to give himself something to look forward to. Between work and knowing the joys that await him at a Lannister family dinner, he _needs_ something to look forward to. 

By the time Jaime gets home from said dinner on Saturday, it’s nearly midnight. He feels like he’s run a marathon, or maybe like he’s gone twelve rounds in a boxing match, only he wasn’t allowed to hit back.

Seeing his father is never pleasant. Seeing his _entire_ family over the dinner table is akin to torture. 

It took his father less than half an hour to turn the conversation into a lecture of all the ways Jaime is a continued disappointment. It isn’t enough that Jaime is part owner of one of the most prestigious law firms in King’s Landing. It’s not enough that Jaime is the only one of Tywin’s children without a drinking problem. It’s never been enough that Jaime tries _so_ hard.

All that has ever mattered to Tywin Lannister is that Jaime brought down Tywin’s biggest client, Aerys Targaryen. It only matters that Jaime reported what he knew about Aerys and his dealings with his own wife, Rhaella, and his secretary, Elia. All that matters is that Jaime provided pictures, audio recordings, and video of the abuses. 

All that matters is that Jaime didn’t learn his lesson, turned around, and did the same exact thing to Robert Baratheon. 

It doesn’t matter that Jaime was saving his own sister, niece, and nephews. It doesn’t matter that Jaime was doing the _right thing_.

Tywin Lannister has never missed an opportunity to remind Jaime of the shame he’s brought to the family his entire adult life.

Jaime doesn’t punch anything, as much as he wants to. The tension he feels overrides the worry that Brienne’s reticence all week was an attempt to put a stop to this in the least confrontational way possible, the worry that she’ll say no--or worse, ignore him--so he pulls out his phone. Before he has time to think about what a bad idea it is, he texts her, ‘_Come over?_’ 

He’s keyed up waiting for her to text back, fingers tapping a rapid rhythm on his thigh. Instead of a text, his phone lights up, vibrating in his hand as her name comes up on the screen. 

He barely gets out a greeting before Brienne says, her voice thick with worry, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he says reflexively, a touch defensively. 

“Are you sure?” Brienne says quietly. He can just imagine the furrow between her eyebrows, the slight downturn of her lips.

Of course he’s not okay. He wouldn’t have texted her at midnight if he was okay. He needs to do something with the tension that feels like it’s knotting every single muscle in his body. 

“I want to see you,” he says and hopes that she’ll mistake the gravel in his tone for arousal and not neediness. “If you can’t I--”

“I can,” she interrupts him. 

He sags with relief. 

“I have to get dressed first, and--”

This time he interrupts her. “Don’t bother.” 

She’s quiet. 

He hates the phone. If he could see her, he would know exactly what that silence means. “I meant, don’t bother taking the time to get dressed. I’ve seen you in less.” He smirks even though she can’t see him. He knows if he could, she would have that expression on her face like she doesn’t know if she’s amused or annoyed. 

She sighs, but all she says is, “Jaime.”

\--

He opens the door to find her in a pair of pajama shorts and a threadbare gray t-shirt. He can’t help but smile. She _didn’t_ get dressed before coming over. The shorts have _otters_ on them. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, wispy fly-aways like a gossamer halo around her head. “Were you asleep?” 

She snorts and rolls her eyes a little. “No, Jaime, I wasn’t asleep.” She brushes past him with a smile. “I was reading in bed.” 

His reaction is nearly instantaneous; she says she was in bed, and his body says _yes_. He snags her by the hand, pulls her in, and kisses her as heavy as the weight on his shoulders that he’s felt all night. He runs a hand through her hair, slipping the elastic out, and leaving it soft as cotton around her face. 

Brienne doesn’t question him, or press him, or make demands. She’s so good, and so warm, and so sweet. She places her palms against his cheeks and presses her whole body against his with a pleased little sigh. 

She takes his hand and leads him to bed. 

They _know_ each other’s bodies now. They move together, shedding their clothing as if it’s a choreographed dance: her shirt, then his; his mouth at her breasts as he shoves down her bottoms; his hand palming her hip while she divests him of his own pants. 

It’s not the same every time; there’s nothing rote about the way their bodies come together. But the path there gets more familiar each time in the best of ways. He never gets tired of the taste of her lips, or the feel of her cool legs curling around his, her foot trailing along his calf as he presses between her thighs. 

The parts of her that always seemed so discordant before he knew her better, they all coalesce in these moments. Her wide, thick-lipped mouth becomes more daring every time, mapping larger expanses of his body with teeth and tongue. Her strong arms wrap around him, her incongruously delicate hands grasping for purchase. The freckles that flood every inch of her pale skin are only constellations to be traced by his lips. Even the noises she makes when he moves within her are a study in contradictions, from the gentle moans when he first enters her to the nearly animalistic groans as she nears her climax. 

He knows all of the pieces that fit together to make up Brienne, and yet every time he enters her, it’s impossibly new and achingly familiar all at once.

Brienne’s eyes are closed, her head tilted back in pleasure. He wants to see her eyes, though, needs her to see him. 

He brushes his thumb along the dark pink blush that stains her cheek. “Brienne,” he says, voice choked and desperate. Her eyes flutter open, threatening to close on his next thrust. “Don’t close your eyes.” 

Her eyes widen, her mouth softening, startled by whatever it is that bleeds through the tone of his request. The expression on her face threatens to crack through a flimsy barrier within him, so he leans down and kisses her deeply, and rolls so that she’s on top, knees braced by his hips, hands resting on his chest.

Brienne leans away from the kiss. She looks like--like sculptures of the Warrior and the Maiden were melted down and formed into the woman that sits astride him. She moves in a slow rhythm, her blue eyes staring at him so intently, he would swear she’s somehow inside him. He reaches to twine their fingers together and draw her back down to kiss him again. 

He slides their clasped hands to rest by his head. It pulls her off-balance just enough to shift her weight forward, pinning him in place. He sucks in a breath at the feeling. She’s so close, her stomach brushing his with every rise and fall. He can’t stop himself from thrusting hard into her. She whimpers and pushes her hips down, rocking back and forth, clenching around him.

In a strange way, he doesn’t want to come, doesn’t want to put an end to this moment that is filling him with warmth and comfort. But he can’t stop the current that sweeps him up, and he tumbles over the precipice, quivering and quaking, left feeling like Brienne is holding him together even as he comes apart.

\--

Jaime’s still floating in a post-orgasmic haze when Brienne walks out of the bathroom. She slips on her underwear first, and if he was unsettled by that, when she pulls her shirt over her head, his whole body seems to protest no. He’s tired enough--_exhausted_ after seeing his family--that all he wants is for her to crawl back into bed and let him pull her in tight, to fall asleep with her hair tickling his nose.

“You don’t have to go,” he says. Her head darts up and she freezes in the process of pulling up her shorts. She looks like a fawn, all eyes, lanky limbs, and nerves. He has to look away from her, from the fear he put on her face, so he checks his phone. “It’s three in the morning,” he points out, lazing back against his pillow, one arm tucked behind his head, a perfect illusion of casual indifference. “Don’t feel like you have to leave if you’re too tired to drive.” 

She gawps at him for an endless moment before she looks away, clears her throat, finishes pulling up those damned otter-covered shorts and says, “I have plans with my friends in the morning.” He watches her draw in a breath, watches that vulnerability firm into something more certain before she looks at him with a crooked smile. “We get brunch every Sunday.” 

“Of course,” Jaime says, swallowing back whatever stupid thing his brain tries to supply next. He flings his legs over the side of the bed and yanks his underwear on before following her down his hallway. “Text me when you get home so I know you didn’t fall asleep driving,” he says as she puts on her shoes. Then, as if to draw back on the concern that leaves him feeling too exposed in the wake of rejection, says “I would hate to get to work Monday and realize I have to finish your work on top of mine.” 

A queer expression crosses Brienne’s face, one that Jaime actually doesn’t recognize for once. It’s gone in a flash. He _does_ recognize the expression of warring amusement and aggravation she seems to wear so frequently when he speaks. “I promise, I’m fine. But I’ll text you when I get home.” Her mouth opens and closes just as quickly, as if she were about to say something more. Instead, she leans in and kisses him softly. “Goodnight, Jaime.” 

“Goodnight, Brienne.”

She smiles at him again and trudges to her car, the moonlight turning her hair a silvery white-blonde and rendering her skin nearly luminescent. He waits until her headlights disappear down the street, then closes and locks his door, resting his forehead against it, thudding once for good measure.

He heads back to his room and crawls back into bed, the smell of her still thick in the air, the smell of _them_ tangled up in his sheets, and doesn’t fall asleep until his phone lights up with ‘_Made it home_’. He hesitates, thumbs over the keyboard. He finally gives up and sends a thumbs-up emoji and places his phone face down on the bedside table. 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you want to follow me on tumblr, I'm [@agirlnamedkeith](https://agirlnamedkeith.tumblr.com/) over there. You usually get some snippets as I write. 
> 
> Oh, and you'll notice, I did update with the number of chapters. As always, this could fluctuate slightly as I continue to write, but I usually nail it within 1 or 2 chapters once I have a firm outline.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they still suck at communication, but at least Ygritte makes an appearance. 
> 
> Also, it’s so soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to bethanyactually for being the best, most supportive, hard-working beta around. 
> 
> Also, thank you for the support in all respects. I am going to try to keep up with my updates on this fic and tornado. I do still write every single day. 
> 
> However, as I’ve shared a bit on tumblr, I have some very heavy things happening with my family. It doesn’t feel right to share details, but I want people to know if it seems like the updates are slower, I haven’t abandoned anything. It’s only that my emotional well is run dry a lot lately as I try to take care of myself and my family. 
> 
> Thank you again, though, for being so supportive and enthusiastic about this story. It keeps me writing even on days it’s difficult.

Brienne does go to brunch with her friends on Sunday.

It’s on the tip of her tongue the entire time to tell them all about what she’s been doing with Jaime. If only so she could finally have someone --_ anyone_ \-- to ask about the tumult of emotions she seems to be processing constantly. But she doesn’t. It still feels like even if her friends are more supportive than she fears, it will change things in a way Brienne doesn’t want to risk.

Monday morning, she’s not _worried_, precisely. It’s nearly normal, now. She’s very_ aware_ of Jaime, physically, of sharing space with him in a way so diametrically opposed to how they see each other outside of work, and with no bridge to close the gulf between those two experiences. 

It’s okay, though. That’s just how things are now. The weekends give her time to re-center and move from naked and sated to clothed and reserved. She arrives at work, looking as she always has, any evidence left by his lips and teeth hidden beneath starched cotton and pleated wool.

She’s the first in the office, which isn’t terribly unusual, and gives her extra time to take a breath and get her coffee. She’s just poured the steaming liquid into her mug when that familiar, low voice interrupts her peace.

“Morning,” Jaime greets her. 

Even that simple greeting warms the blood in her veins. “Good morning.” She briefly smiles at him before turning back to her coffee preparation. 

Brienne does her best to keep her pulse calm as Jaime walks over and leans his hip against the counter next to her, body facing her as she stirs the small dollop of cream into her cup. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says.

Brienne looks at him, startled and perplexed.“About what?” 

Jaime looks vaguely uncomfortable as he says, “About Saturday.” Brienne’s confusion must show on her face, because he immediately clarifies, “If I overstepped by suggesting you could stay over.” 

Brienne’s heart jumps in her chest. She can feel the blush rising up her neck already, and curses her pale skin for making it so obvious. She braces herself to say something, but Jaime continues before she can.

“You’re welcome to,” he says, speaking a little too quickly to be normal. “Of course you’re welcome to stay over. But I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“You didn’t,” she says, hoping he can’t hear how shaky she feels at the concerned look in his eyes. “I had plans.” 

Jaime gives her a tight smile. “Brunch.” He nods to himself, almost as if she’s answered a question he didn’t ask. “All the same, I didn’t mean to ask for something that made you uncomfortable.”

“Jaime,” she says, her stomach knotting up. It feels like something went very sideways somewhere along the way. He startled her, and in the moment, she froze, and maybe panicked, but it wasn’t--she wasn’t-- “You _surprised _me. You don’t need to apologize.” He still looks dubious. She flushes and mutters, “I didn’t even have a toothbrush with me.” 

It’s only half a lie. There’s an intimacy to the idea of sleeping in his bed, waking up next to him, seeing each other mussed and puffy-eyed. 

Jaime looks away from her, whatever look was on his face smoothing out quickly. “Ilyn.” 

Brienne twists her head to find Ilyn Payne walking into the breakroom. 

“Jaime,” he nods at Jaime and then looks at Brienne. “Tarth. Good morning.”

Seeing her exit presented to her on a silver platter, Brienne grabs her coffee mug.“Good morning, Mr. Payne.” She cuts a glance to Jaime, giving him a quick half-hearted smile and beats the hastiest retreat possible without raising eyebrows.

\--

The rest of the day, the rest of the_ week _is fine. As fine as it ever gets with a heavy workload. But even as the week drags on, and she and Jaime_ both_ look worse for wear, he doesn’t mention getting together, and then she doesn’t hear from him over the weekend. He doesn’t act like anything is particularly wrong on Monday morning, and they work together as well as ever, but now Brienne is worried … and_ horny_.

She needs advice and her options are, as always for an introvert workaholic, limited. Sansa will ask too many questions and fret too much. Margaery will immediately detect something more interesting is going on and poke and pry until Brienne either spills everything or never speaks to her again. Renly is off the table for obvious, former-tragic-crush reasons. She’s resorted to scrolling through her list of contacts, and like a miracle of the alphabet, just as Brienne has lost all hope, there’s her answer: _Ygritte_. 

Ygritte and Brienne usually only see one another in a group setting. Ygritte’s dating Sansa’s cousin Jon. Sansa brings her along any time alcohol is involved because Ygritte is the very definition of the life of the party. Brienne likes Ygritte well enough. They’re not precisely friends, but they’re certainly more than acquaintances. Ygritte is … perfect. 

_I need advice_, Brienne texts. 

** _Why the fuck would you need my advice _ **

Brienne groans but still forces herself to text:_ Sex advice_

Ygritte sends back five lines of crying-while-laughing emoji before resorting to actual words. 

** _Ducking finally _  
** **_FUCKING finally_**  
**_Fuck autocorrect_**  
**_Anyway use plenty of lube and don’t let him just cram it in_**  
_**Make him work for it**_

Brienne blinks as each text comes in, torn between laughing and throwing her phone in the garbage.

__

__

_Not that_  
_He doesn’t cram anything_

Brienne hesitates. The situation is too…nuanced to explain via text. She groans and types: _Can you just come over to my place tonight?_

** _I don’t know where you live_ **

_I’ll give you the address and pay for the train or bus or whatever for you to get here _

** _This better be good  
If this is some stupid shit like your boyfriend can’t find your clit I’m gonna kill you _ **

Brienne stares at her phone. She’s never done anything remotely as scandalous as this, and she’s never purposefully tried to make herself sound interesting. And, frankly, she would like to shock someone for once in her life. 

_I’m sleeping with my boss_

_ **Fuck me I’ll pay for my own bus** _

—

Ygritte arrives with a fifth of what Brienne assumes is whiskey in her hand and a grin on her face. 

“Drink this.” She shoves the bottle into Brienne’s hand. “And then tell me every single filthy detail.”

Brienne flushes and starts to say there are no filthy details, but then the memory of Jaime desperately fingering her and panting against her cheek that he couldn’t wait until they got to his bedroom to taste her flashes through her mind and… okay, maybe there are some filthy details. Whatever look is on her face, it makes Ygritte’s grin grow even broader. 

Ygritte shoves past her, kicks her shoes off, and flops onto Brienne’s couch, aggressively patting the cushion on the other end. 

“I really didn’t think you had it in you,” she says as Brienne sits down. “What’d he do? Ask you to stay late one evening, shut the door behind you, slip your panties down your legs and assume the position?” 

A couple of months ago, the very idea would have made Brienne wrinkle her nose in distaste, but now she thinks about the idea of Jaime behind her, fingers at her clit as he fucks her over his desk, and it’s not distaste that curls in her stomach. 

“No,” Brienne says, a little dazed. “I propositioned him.” 

Ygritte laughs heartily. “Fuckin’ A, how are you friends with Jon’s prissy little cousin?” 

“Sansa isn’t prissy,” Brienne says, defending her automatically. 

“Well, she’s certainly not going to ask her boss to fuck her.” Brienne can’t even argue that. She did, quite literally, ask Jaime to fuck her. “And for whatever reason, you need my advice, not hers, so I’m going to guess you didn’t tell her.”

“I didn’t,” Brienne confirms. “And it’s really important that no one else finds out about this.” 

“Who the fuck am I going to tell? And why the fuck would I?” Ygritte rolls her eyes. “Just tell me why I’m here. Did he do something you didn’t like?”

“No.”

“Is he not very good?”

“No!”

“He’s not good or he’s not not good?”

“He’s good.” Brienne can’t prevent the blush that heats her face. “It’s good. Very good.”

“Okay. Does he expect you to suck his dick but won’t return the favor?”

If Brienne was red before, now she knows she must be crimson. _“No!_” 

“Then why the fuck am I here?” Ygritte yanks the whiskey out of Brienne’s grip and takes a long sip. “It sounds like the sex is good, he’s not pressuring you into anything, and you still have a job.” She pauses. “You do still have a job, right?” 

“Yes, I do. He’s not like that.” 

Ygritte throws her hands out to the side, her expression clearly screaming, _then what!?_

“He told me I could spend the night,” Brienne begins slowly. “I said I had plans and now he’s acting… He apologized to me for pushing for something I didn’t want. I just don’t know how any of this works, really. If there are rules you’re supposed to follow when you’re just--just _fuckbuddies_ instead of dating.”

“Seven hells,” Ygritte moans. “There aren’t rules for any of this shit, the only thing that matters is what you want to do and what you don’t want to do. Did you want to stay over?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then I’m still not seeing the fucking problem,” Ygritte says. She sounds genuinely aggravated, as if Brienne has ruined all the fun she thought she would have. 

“I panicked and I think he could tell,” she tries to explain. It all sort of spills out in a rush, as if she’s bottled up everything for too long and now someone’s popped the top. “I wasn’t expecting it. It’s not what we do. We get together after work, we have sex, and I leave. He’s never even suggested spending the night together until Saturday. Which was weird anyway, because we also don’t even speak on the weekends. The whole thing was...confusing. But now he thinks he’s messed up and he hasn’t asked me over since.” 

“Just ask_ him_, or however the fuck you both set up your fuck sessions.”

Oh. 

_Oh._

The moment Ygritte says it so simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, it’s like a switch flips in Brienne’s mind. Somewhere along the way, after that first little act of bravery, it became Jaime initiating things. The only part of Brienne’s life that’s particularly stressful_ is _work, and since her work tends to be completely entwined with Jaime’s, they both have the same bad days. Usually. 

She thinks back to the past several weeks, to Jaime carefully asking her the first couple of times, to how he now just nudges her under the table with his foot and quirks an eyebrow. She’ll blush, try not to smile, and nudge him back. It stopped being complicated weeks ago. At least until Saturday. 

She still isn’t quite sure why she rushed over but never asked him why he was texting her so late, or why he was so intent on having her that he didn’t want her to take the time to get dressed. Jaime’s never seen her that way, in her ratty pajamas and unkempt hair, but he’d taken one look at her and his whole body had relaxed. 

The sex was different, too. There had been something slow and languid about the way he touched her, as if he was savoring her. 

Brienne flinches when fingers snap in her field of vision suddenly. She glares at Ygritte and bats her hand away. 

“Did you really not think about just asking him?” Ygritte sounds flabbergasted. “You can ask him to fuck you the first time, but you can’t bite the bullet and bring it up again when he thinks you’ve rejected him?”

“I--” Brienne has no defense for this, not one that makes any sense now that logic is part of the equation. 

Ygritte rolls her eyes and takes a much heartier pull from the bottle. “I take it back. I know exactly how you and Jon’s tight-assed cousin are friends.” Ygritte pushes herself off the couch, sets the fifth of whiskey on the table. “Ask your boss to fuck you again and take a godsdamned overnight bag.” She jerks her jacket back on. “And next time you make me come all the fuck across town for nothing, have your own booze and a pizza waiting for me.”

\--

Brienne knows it’s silly to text him as soon as Ygritte leaves, but she doesn’t want to lose that feeling of complete assurance that this is the right move. 

She starts and deletes so many texts, she’s tempted to throw her phone across the living room. 

_Are you home?_

_ **Yes** _

_Can I come over?_

** _Yes_ **

She doesn’t pack a proper overnight bag. She grabs one of her bigger grocery totes and puts spare underwear, a clean t-shirt, and a pair of jeans in it. She adds her toothbrush, deodorant and a hairbrush, and she’s done. Jaime’s already seen her in the middle of the night with no make-up or effort spent on her hair, there’s no need to pretend that he’ll care if she wakes up before him to throw on the trace of mascara and lip balm she wears nearly every day. 

Brienne’s fingers tap against her steering wheel the entire drive over. Her hand clutches the handle of her bag over and over on her walk up to his house from his driveway. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears when she pushes the doorbell. 

She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until he opens the door and it escapes her in a burst of relief. He looks -- well, he looks like Jaime. He’s scruffier than he is during the week, wearing low-slung grey sweatpants and--and no shirt. Her eyes trace over his torso, from the spray of hair high on his chest to where it slowly tapers down between his abs. 

Her eyes finally climb their way back to his face to find him looking amused, but she can tell he’s not completely unaffected. He waits until he knows she’s looking at him before he glances down her body. When his eyes latch onto the tote in her hand, he looks back up at Brienne with a raised eyebrow. 

“It-it’s only for if--” Brienne is completely tongue-tied and floundering. “I just thought…” 

He leans against his door, his body relaxed, a smile that would be cocky if it weren’t so warm on his lips. 

“Brienne,” he says, his voice low and round. “Can you spend the night?” 

“Yes,” she says, gripping her tote tightly. 

Jaime pushes away from the door frame and steps forward until he’s against her, his hand at her hip. “Do you want to spend the night?” 

“Yes,” she breathes out. 

He smiles up at her, a soft, sweet smile that she’s never seen. “Good,” he says, drawing her down into a gentle kiss. 

He backs into his house, pulling her with him without breaking the embrace. 

\-- 

It takes Brienne a moment when she wakes up to realize where she is, and why there’s a hand resting on her back. 

When she remembers, she can’t keep the smile off her face. She turns her head on the pillow to find Jaime still asleep. Almost as if he senses that she’s looking at him, he wakes slowly, his eyes blinking lazily until they finally focus on her. His eyebrows draw together for only a second until they smooth out, and a sleepy smile lifts the corners of his mouth. 

“Hi,” he says, voice rough with sleep. 

Brienne wants to press her face into the pillow to try and hide the goofy happiness that fills her entire being. It’s silly, she knows it is, but waking up next to him and seeing that easy affection on his face feels so…_good_. It’s just _good_. Instead, she manages to say, “Good morning,” her own voice husky. 

When he leans in close to her, nudges her nose with his and kisses her, she forgets all her former concerns--hair sticking up at all angles, pillow marks on her cheeks, morning breath, simply waking up in bed with someone else for the first time--and gives herself up to the kiss, stale breath and all. He hums in contentment and tugs her until she’s lying on top of him. 

Everything is all cool linen and warm skin. Jaime’s hands holding her waist, his morning stubble pleasantly scratchy as he kisses along her jawline and down her neck. He presses his hardening cock against her thigh. She moans softly and shifts against him. 

Jaime slides one of his hands to palm her breast and--her stomach _growls._ He pulls away to look at her with raised eyebrows. She thinks about playing it off, but then her stomach protests its empty state_ again_. 

He laughs, his stomach and chest vibrating against her own. She blushes, but the look in his eyes isn’t mocking, it’s...affectionate. That’s the only word she can think of for it. 

He kisses her again, before saying, “Hungry?” 

She blushes at the suggestive smile on his face and rolls onto her back. He follows, curling around her like a limpet. 

“Come on,” he mutters against her temple. “I’ll make breakfast and then we can pick up where we left off.” 

“You’ll make breakfast?” she asks, leaning away far enough so he can see the skeptical look on her face. 

“I’ll have you know I make completely edible eggs,” he says with a nearly grave expression. “I rarely burn them.” 

It’s in these moments that she feels the nerves creep up her spine. The sinking feeling that she might know him a little too well, now. Well enough she can see the minute shifts of expression on his face, where nothing betrays him except his eyes. It makes her worry she may like him a little too much, that she may be getting something out of this that he isn’t, or that she’ll want something out of it that he doesn’t want to give. 

She doesn’t dwell on it, couldn’t, even if she was tempted to when he’s looking at her so warmly. 

“If you provide coffee, I don’t care if you burn the eggs,” she says. 

“That I can do.” 

He leans in to kiss her before getting out of bed, pulling his gray sweatpants on and snapping the waist before turning to face her again. He holds out his hand to pull her up with him. 

She looks at him, the way the sun bathes him in golden light, turning his tawny hair and tanned skin into molten gold, and she wonders why the hell he keeps coming back to_ her_. She doesn’t really care why, though, because when she lets him pull her up, lets him tug her close, and lets him press his whole body against hers when he goes up on tip-toe to kiss her, it all just feels so_ good_. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are very soft and very sex-heavy. In which Addam appears. In which I pretend like I've remembered the part where they work in a law firm. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Brienne stares at him for the longest minute of his life. 
> 
> “Are you--” she stops herself. Her voice shakes worse than it did the first time she asked him to sleep with her. Whatever it is… “Are you sleeping with anyone else?”
> 
> “Of course I’m not.” Jaime can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdity of the question, some of the fear leaching out of him if this is why she’s nervous. “When would I have the time?” he tries to joke. She doesn’t laugh with him, in fact her neck flushes, splotchy and red. He feels slightly guilty, and more gently asks, “Why would I be sleeping with someone else?”
> 
> She shrugs her shoulders. “We never agreed to any sort of exclusivity,” she says. 
> 
> “Are _you_ sleeping with anyone else?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to bethanyactually.
> 
> Also, I do want to take just a moment at the very beginning of this chapter to say that the kind comments both on tumblr and in reply to the last chapter meant the world to me, truly. Someone in my immediate family was hospitalized for eight days, and it was an emotional and physical toll. Obviously. It took up most of my brain space for that period and immediately following it. They're doing better now, so that's good! And then, of course, I immediately came down with bronchitis! Because I now have a life that sounds fake over the internet! To add to that, in the middle of all this, I'm getting married in 8 days now. 
> 
> So, here's crossing every finger I have that things ease up in general for me. And I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It wasn't easy to get out at first, but I think I'm pretty proud of it in the end.

Having Brienne in his apartment, her hair fluffy like cotton candy from his pillows, eating breakfast with him, happily sighing as she drinks coffee--it’s as if the Seven in all their dual kindness and cruelty have given him the briefest glimpse of what he wants. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring at her until she catches his eye, and cocks her head in confusion.

“Is there something on my face?” she asks, lifting one of her fingers to touch the corner of her mouth. 

He reaches over and brushes the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, as if to collect a little of the jam from her toast. “Bit of jam,” he says, and pops his thumb in his mouth as if to lick it off. 

Her tongue darts out as if to check for any more lingering fruit. He wants to follow the same path with his own. 

How much he wants her has become almost ridiculous. No matter how many times he kisses her, how many times he tastes her, it’s never enough to make him crave her any less. She’s so different from every other woman he’s dated. He’d never thought he had a particular type, but now he thinks maybe his type is a woman who amuses and aggravates and arouses him all in the same minute. Or maybe it’s not a type, maybe he’s just a bit undone by this particular woman.

Brienne insists on rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher before she leaves, so he helps her. She rinses and he loads them, and it’s so achingly domestic it feels almost like he’s getting away with something, or maybe just getting a glimpse of something he’s missed out on. 

When they finish, Brienne dries her hands and then hovers as if not knowing what to do now that she doesn’t have a clear routine to follow. He watches as she rubs her palms against the outside of her thighs nervously, fingering the hem of her shorts.

“I should get dressed and go,” Brienne says, but she sounds reluctant enough that Jaime thinks she may not want to. 

“Should you?’

“Probably,” she says, still rubbing the soft cotton of her pajamas between her fingertips.

“Mmm,” he hums, walking toward her slowly. “You don’t sound so sure about that.”

“I--” 

Whatever Brienne was going to say, he doesn’t give her a chance to finish. Jaime kisses her heavily, backing her up against the counter as she twines her arms around his neck. She pulls away when his hands slip beneath the waistband of her shorts and underwear. She lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t do anything to stop him as he pushes her shorts over her hips, letting them pool around her ankles. He puts his hands at her waist and presses just enough that she gets his meaning and hops to sit on the edge of the counter. 

“Jaime?” she questions, a touch breathlessly. He smirks at her as he sinks to his knees. “What are you--”

“If you have to ask,” he places a kiss against her inner thigh, “then clearly, I’m not doing this often enough.”

_Gods_, but he could do this all day, if only for her soft whimpers and the way her strong thighs tense and quiver against his palms as he moves her legs further apart. She’s already hot and wet when he runs his tongue from her opening to her clit. She tangles her fingers in his hair, and he moans in response when she pulls sharply as he continues to kiss and lick and suck at her. 

He knows by now exactly how to push her over the edge quickly, the combination of flicks and suction that will have her crying out and holding his face tightly against her as she rides out the cresting pleasure. 

He doesn’t do that. He languidly swipes his tongue along her, savoring the softness of her skin, the musky taste of her arousal, the gentle moans of pleasure as he slowly pulls her toward the precipice. 

“Jaime,” she says impatiently. Her fingernails scratch at his scalp, her heels digging firmly into his back, her breathing heavy and choked. She writhes against him, rolling her hips to coax his mouth back to her clit. 

He holds out a bit longer, until she becomes restless enough to pull him by the grip on his hair, begging him without words to push her over the edge. He smiles, softly kisses her flushed skin and then sucks her clit, flicking his tongue over her until she gasps and comes with a guttural groan. Her thighs clamp around him as her hips rise off of the granite surface of his countertop, straining toward him. 

He waits until she stops shuddering before standing, wincing slightly at the ache in his knees. He kisses her hungrily, and she slides her tongue into his mouth, not caring about the taste of herself. She wraps her hand around his cock. He has to drop his forehead to her shoulder, gasping for air at the feeling. 

Jaime bites her collarbone and groans, “Gods, I wish I could fuck you right here.” 

She whimpers, stroking him faster, harder. “You could,” she says breathlessly. 

“No condom.” He thrusts into her grip and comes on her thigh. 

He’s still breathing heavily when he catches her eyes again. She’s searching his face, a thoughtful expression on her own that he recognizes. How she can think at all is beyond him, his nerve-endings still humming from his orgasm, but the fact that she’s clearly sorting the facts of something into neat little rows in her brain is mind-boggling. 

He brushes the damp hair away from where it clings to her temple. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

She blinks, letting whatever puzzle she’s solving fall away. She wraps her legs around his waist and tugs him in, capturing his mouth in a firm kiss. He figures she’s distracting him from whatever it is that pulled her out of the moment, but he can’t quite bring himself to mind when she holds him so tightly. 

\--

Jaime’s explaining the stack of files on his desk to his paralegal, Peck, when he notices Brienne hovering just outside his doorway. 

“Should I come back later?” Peck asks. 

“Please,” Jaime says, not taking his eyes off Brienne. 

She smiles at Peck as he leaves Jaime’s office, but the corners of her mouth are tighter than normal. Brienne doesn’t greet him when she walks in, just softly shuts the door behind her. There’s tension in her shoulders as she walks to the chairs in front of his desk and takes a deep breath before sitting down. 

Jaime’s shoulders stiffen in response to the odd mood Brienne seems to be in. He hasn’t seen her this nervous since--well, since he asked her to stay the night the first time. The idea that she regrets staying with him settles like a rock in his gut. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, resting his forearms on his desk. 

Brienne stares at him for the longest minute of his life. 

“Are you--” she stops herself. Her voice shakes worse than it did the first time she asked him to sleep with her. Whatever it is… “Are you sleeping with anyone else?”

“Of course I’m not.” Jaime can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdity of the question, some of the fear leaching out of him if this is why she’s nervous. “When would I have the time?” he tries to joke. She doesn’t laugh with him, in fact her neck flushes, splotchy and red. He feels slightly guilty, and more gently asks, “Why would I be sleeping with someone else?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “We never agreed to any sort of exclusivity,” she says. 

“Are _you_ sleeping with anyone else?” 

Her eyes open so wide it’s almost comical. “Of course I’m not!” Jaime simply lifts an eyebrow, hoping she’ll realize the mirror of his own response. She must, because her mouth purses in annoyance. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because--” she shifts, her eyes almost beseeching him to save her from having to say whatever she’s about to. He doesn’t. “Because...you _know_ why. You’re the only one I’ve ever been with.”

Jaime swallows. Sometimes, strangely, it’s easy to forget that. Not that he doesn’t understand the weight of it still, but it seems very long ago, and very...apart from what they are now. 

“I haven’t been with anyone else in years,” he finally says. Brienne’s eyebrows lift slightly, surprised but not blown away. “My last relationship didn’t end well.” He can’t imagine a bigger understatement. “I’ve been single since then and I’m not someone who wants meaningless sex.” 

The minute the words leave his mouth, he wants to drag them back in. He’s done so well keeping those barriers up, not letting himself label this, especially not aloud. He thinks about apologizing, but the expression on Brienne’s face isn’t one of alarm. She simply looks at him, wets her lower lip with a dart of her tongue. He waits for a response and can’t tell whether he wants her to admit to some larger feelings, or ignore his half-declaration. 

“I don’t want--” she pauses, mouthing firming in contemplation. “I don’t want to sleep with anyone else.” He breathes in deeply, ready to agree when she says, “I don’t want _you_ to sleep with anyone else.” Her lips twitch, as if she’s afraid of his response. “If you want to, I would appreciate it if you would--”

“Brienne,” he interrupts her. She looks at him and folds her hands in her lap. He nearly smiles at the familiarity of that gesture, the clearest indication of how nervous she is. “I don’t want to sleep with anyone else either.” 

Her shoulders relax immediately, but he can’t quite shake the unease that someone said something to her that would cause her to bring it up in the first place. 

“Did someone say something--”

“No,” she interrupts him. “I just wanted to know. For sure. We’re--things are--now that I’ve spent the night, I don’t want to create an awkward situation by being there when...”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he says vehemently. It it were anyone else, if it were in any other context, he would be furious at the _accusation_, but he knows Brienne doesn’t intend for it to be censorious. “Even if I had multiple partners, I wouldn’t keep you in the dark about it and let you end up in that kind of situation.”

She bites one side of her lip. “I know that.” At his dubious expression, she huffs. “I know it logically, but I’m not always logical about this.” She smiles, a little chagrined. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this or not,” she says sardonically, “but I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.”

“Neither do I.” He wishes they were having this conversation anywhere but in his fucking _office_, where he has to stay on his side of the desk and maintain some sort of facade of professionalism. “I’ve only been in long-term relationships, and they were few and far between. I don’t--” He hesitates. He’s never tried to sum up his sexual history in words, but he’s never been someone that wants one-night stands, and it always seems like once he’s decided to date someone, it turns into a serious relationship. He’s only been in two significant relationships in his forty-four years and for the most part, he doesn’t think about it. Not like he did when he was in his twenties, and he was an oddity for not fucking his way through college. “I don’t take this lightly,” he finally finishes. 

They stare at each other for a long moment. Brienne has that look about her again, like she’s solving a puzzle, or at least mentally filing things into their proper folders. He watches a dozen emotions flow over her face. 

She finally opens her mouth to say whatever she’s been building up to when the door suddenly opens behind her. She startles, eyes wide, body tense as she spins to see who interrupted. Addam’s stuck his head in the doorway, leaning his weight on his hand still clutching the door handle. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Addam says. Jaime can tell it’s a joke from the tone of his voice and the half-smile on his face, but it makes Jaime’s chest tighten anyway. 

“No,” Brienne says quickly, all but shooting to her feet. She smiles, but it’s a quavering one. “We were going over the latest documents we _finally_ got from Euron Greyjoy’s attorney.” Brienne darts a look back to Jaime before facing Addam again. “We were just finishing up, if you needed Jaime?” 

“You sure?” Addam looks from Brienne to Jaime. “I can come back later.”

“It’s fine,” Brienne says, and Jaime can hear the relief clear in her voice. “I need to speak with Podrick anyway.”

She smiles tightly at Jaime, and he can see how hard she’s trying to walk at a normal pace as she leaves his office, offering Addam the same tight smile before she exits. 

“Is something wrong with Tarth?” Addam asks, walking over to take the seat she just abandoned.

“Not as far as I know,” Jaime says. He’s pretty sure it’s true; whatever she’d been about to say before Addam interrupted wasn’t paired with the clenched jaw and tight shoulders that indicate she’s unsure. If anything, she’d looked the same when he’d offered to let her stay over the first time, and that--well, it all worked out. “But it’s not as if I know much about her personal life.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but as soon as he says it, he realizes how true it is. 

“You two spend an egregious amount of time together,” Addam says disbelievingly. “You’ve spent years arguing to the point of third parties wondering if it’s about to come to physical blows, and you don’t ‘know much about her personal life’?”

It’s true, and not true all at the same time. He knows every freckle on her body, how she looks when she first wakes up in the morning, how she takes her coffee; the fine tremors in her muscles when she comes apart beneath his hands and tongue. But, he doesn’t know who her family is, who her friends are. He doesn’t know if she lives alone or has roommates, if she lives in an apartment or a house. 

He’s never _seen_ her home. They’ve always somehow ended up at his place and-- 

“Jaime?” Addam interrupts his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jaime answers easily. “You know how lawsuits between families can be. It’s a strain on everyone involved trying to pick apart the relevant information from the old family squabbles they’re all still angry about. Added complications always make these cases more strenuous.”

“Do you need some more help? I could loan you Piper or Paege for the next few weeks. Lyle may be able to spare--”

Jaime waves a hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. We’ve worked longer hours and we’ve worked worse cases.” He tilts his neck to release some tension, or at least pop the joints. “It’s only that it’s been a while since we’ve had to deal with bickering siblings, or, in this case, bickering cousins.” 

“It’s a homicide case,” Addam says flatly. It’s not quite a joke, but it’s close enough that Jaime knows he’s not actually judging him. 

“It’s a homicide case where both sides think all of their childhood bullshit is relevant.” Jaime leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “The shitty part is that some of it is relevant and some of it is so irrelevant I want to charge them a premium for making me listen to it in the first place.” He finally lifts his head to look at Addam again. “And you know how Brienne is: no matter how many years she practices, her biggest strength will never be manipulating her clients.”

“No,” Addam agrees. “Why do you think everyone else lets you monopolize her? You two may be intolerable to everyone around you when you get going, but she’s patient when you’re edgy, you’re manipulative when she’s too forthright, she’s calm when you’re _you_.” 

Jaime scowls at Addam and gets a satisfied smirk in return. 

“You’re the dream team,” Addam says simply, “provided no one gets between you when you’re in the middle of something.” 

Jaime tries not to smile at that. There was that one infamous incident when poor Podrick tried to interfere and calm things down. It had not calmed things down and Podrick had spent the next six weeks shaking like a leaf when they raised their voices to each other. 

“We’re good,” Jaime reassures him. “Same as always. We work long hours. We sometimes get on each other’s nerves. We get shit done.” 

Addam still doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “You’re _sure_?”

“Seven hells, Addam.” Jaime just wants him to go away. “What could _possibly_ be wrong?”

Addam cocks his head and narrows his eyes. Jaime doesn’t flinch. 

“Fine,” Addam finally says. “But the two of you would work twenty-four/seven if left to your own devices, so I’m making it clear: if you need help, _ask_. I know you won’t, so I’m going to tell Brienne the same thing. Hopefully, someone will act rationally.” 

—

Jaime sorts through yet another stack of files with Peck’s summaries and meticulous cross-references. As frustrated as he is with this case, he’s thankful once again that somehow, he, Addam, and Ilyn have managed to hire people they can _trust_. Including the woman sitting across from him who seems suddenly incapable of not tapping her pen against the tabletop in an aggravatingly uneven rhythm.

“Brienne?” Jaime asks finally, before he does something truly assholeish like batting it out of her hand. She looks up at him, a startled expression on her face. But at least the tapping stops. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” she says too quickly, too vehemently. 

He gives her a disbelieving look, lets his eyes trail to the currently still pen and back to her face. “_Really_?” He watches her left eye twitch, and. his conversation with Addam scratches at the back of his mind, as it’s been doing for the last several days. “Is everything okay outside of work?”

“What?” Her eyebrows draw together, creating a gentle furrow between them. 

He shrugs. “I don’t know that much about you,” he says, regretting opening that can of worms near the end of an already long day. “If something was wrong--”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Brienne interrupts him. “That’s not why I’m…”

“Nervous?” Jaime supplies. “If it’s not outside of work--the case is going to be fine,” he reassures her. “We’ve won worse.”

“No, it’s not work. It’s --” Brienne, practically puce, takes a deep breath that she slowly lets out, and says, “I got an IUD.” 

Jaime’s heart thuds heavily. 

Brienne continues, “I just thought…in case a _situation_ like the kitchen happens again. Since we’re only sleeping with each other and—“

Jaime feels like he’s seventeen years old again, every drop of blood in his body rushing to his cock. “Pack up your things.” 

“What?” Brienne looks worried, as if he’s angry about— “Why?”

“Because otherwise I’m going to fuck you on the table,” he practically growls, the words low and rumbling out of his chest, “and I don’t want to ruin all of our hard work.” 

Brienne’s hands tremble as she gathers her things into her work bag and stands. He wonders if her thighs are trembling too. 

They’ve nearly made it out the door when he can’t stand it anymore and grabs her by the wrist. She looks at him, startled, as he yanks her to him. He presses his erection against her thigh as he drags her into a heavy kiss, sucking on her lip and scraping it along his teeth. 

When he pulls away, she’s breathing heavily, her pupils already flooding the blue of her irises. He knows if he slid his hand between her legs, he would find her already wet. He grabs her hand instead and leads her out of the conference room. 

It’s ridiculous how hard he is already. He doesn’t want to be some guy that acts like he’s marking his territory if he has sex without a condom. 

It’s not that. 

It’s that he’ll be able to feel all of her, that they’ll be together as close as two people can be. That he doesn’t have to worry about setting things up, or where the condoms are, or the fear of one of them breaking not only ruining their night but every other consequence that’s part and parcel of that. It’s a level of trust he’s rarely had with anyone.

She’s keeping pace with him down the hallway, and the tension just snaps. He throws open the first supply-room door he sees and pulls her in with him. 

“Jaime?” 

He shuts the door behind them, turning the lock even though everyone else left more than an hour ago. He takes a bracing breath and turns around. That was, likely, his first (or second, or third) mistake in all of this. She’s standing there, cheeks pink, chest rising and falling with anticipation. The plain black dress does nothing to eclipse the fact that he knows just how long her legs are, how pale the skin of her stomach is, how pink her nipples are. 

He steps toward her and for a second she startles like she’s going to flee. She doesn’t, and he pulls her into a bruising kiss. It’s too hard, too desperate, too _needy_; but she returns it in kind, a choked sound of pleasure catching in her throat. 

Jaime can’t pace himself, rucking the skirt of her dress up, following the path with his hot palm against the cool skin of her thighs. He strokes from her hip to where her thighs meet and she parts them as if on instinct. She _is_ wet. He strokes her through the cotton--always cotton; always practical, his Brienne--of her underwear. 

“We’re at work,” she says, not quite a protest as she tilts her head so he can kiss his way down her neck, careful not to suck or bite hard enough to leave marks--those he leaves in places only he sees.

“It’s after hours,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear. 

“Still,” she says, writhing against his hand between her legs. 

He pushes her by the waist until she’s against the door, instead of in danger of wrecking the carefully organized shelves. He brackets her with a hand against the door on either side of her shoulders. “Can you wait?” 

She swallows and draws a shaking breath. Finally, she whispers, “No.”

“Thank _fuck_.” He groans and reaches to shove her underwear down her legs. He sighs in relief as his fingers can finally touch her where she’s so soft and hot and wet for this--for him. 

She keens as she eagerly tugs at his belt. She’s already started breathing heavily and pressing down into his touch when she finally gets his trousers unzipped. He takes his hand away only to push them past his cock, then reaches for her thigh and hitches it up. 

He groans as she cants her hips to pull him deeper. 

It’s already, _always_, been the best sex of his life. From the first time, no matter how unpracticed or unsure Brienne was, it was different, and has _stayed_ different; but thrusting into her knowing that the last of those physical barriers is gone, that it’s just the two of them moving together, it feels like more somehow, bigger, like his chest is too small for the pleasure and emotion that floods his veins. 

He feels frantic, but at least Brienne seems to be right there with him. She grips his arms hard as he moves within her almost feverishly.

It would be nice if this were an actual fantasy and she always came first and multiple times before he finally gave in, but it isn’t. It might not be nice, actually, because when he comes with a shaking groan, pressing into her and holding as he does so, she gasps sharply and curls over him. She pants heavily as she strokes her fingers through his hair, his head rising and falling with her every panted breath. 

\--

Jaime tucks himself back into his trousers quickly enough to watch Brienne pull her underwear back up her legs. She’s left her dress pushed up around her waist to do so, and he curses not being about twenty years younger with the refractory period to match. She has the strangest look on her face as she tugs the skirt back down her legs. He can’t help the tiny huff of laughter. 

She looks up with a curious expression. 

“That’s the downside,” he says mildly. “It can be…_messier_.” 

She scowls at him, but there’s no true malice in it. She reaches up to touch her hair, making sure it isn’t too wild, tucking the loose strands behind her ears.

“Come home with me,” he says, the words escaping before he has time to question the impulse.

“We have work tomorrow,” she says, as if on autopilot, not realizing what he’s _really_ asking her. 

“It’ll be better a second time,” he jokes weakly. 

She smiles, a genuine one even if it doesn’t show teeth. “It was pretty good the first.”

“Good, not great.” She gives him a very unimpressed look. “I can make it great. I’ve made it great before.” 

Suddenly, her gaze focuses, something almost suspicious in her expression, as if she’s finally realized what his unspoken request was. “I don’t have clothes at your place.” 

His heart pounds a little harder. It’s not a no. 

“Stop by your place and get some,” he says, pulse pounding in his ears. “You can bring whatever you need.”

He can see the indecision flickering over her features. She stands up straight, shoulders back and says, “We can’t arrive together tomorrow.”

He knows that’s a yes, and can’t quite keep a smile off his face. “You get here before me, anyway. I won’t drag you back to bed.” He holds his hand out, pinkie extended. “Promise.”

Brienne takes a breath and pauses just long enough for anxiety to start trickling down his spine before she finally reaches out and links her pinkie with his. 

He grins and tugs on their entwined fingers until she comes close enough to kiss again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this??? Why, it's the latest chapter of _We Make the Rules_! Am I still on my honeymoon? YES! But thankfully, I married a writer and so our quiet time is spent typing away. I think all the relaxing in front of fireplaces has done me a world of good. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, to bethanyactually for whipping the chapter into shape. 
> 
> Prepare For The Feels.

Brienne didn’t think there was that much more left to discover with Jaime. Not all new stuff, anyway. He’s wonderfully familiar now: the touch of his body, the pressure of his lips, the way his hands grip, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his skin. Then, the first time without the protection of a condom--the feel of him moving in her without the barrier of latex, skin-on-skin in every way possible, the sensation of him coming inside her--was overwhelming in ways she couldn’t have imagined. 

Now she finds herself hanging her suit in his closet and placing her toiletries by the unused second sink. She sets an alarm for the first time when staying at his place. She knows this time it’s not some fun weekend romp, it’s a quiet sort of domesticity that she craves and fears in equal measure.

She doesn’t realize she’s frozen, looking at herself in the mirror and trying to digest the _shift_ she feels, until Jaime walks up behind her, a stomach-twisting smirk on his lips. 

“Mmm,” he hums contentedly, placing a warm, open-mouthed kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He wraps his arms around her waist, pressing his body fully against hers. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asks. 

He meets her eyes in the mirror, a soft heat turning his nearly forest green. “For saying yes.” He pulls her even more tightly against him. She can feel him already half-hard against her bottom. “Should I show you how great it can be now?”

“I want to try something,” she says in a rush, the words spilling from her lips as soon as the urge pops into her mind. Curiosity flashes in his eyes as she disentangles from his arms. He takes a step back and she turns to face him. She grips his shoulders and turns them until he’s the one against the counter. His eyebrows furrow in confusion until she begins to kneel, and then his face transforms into one of shocked arousal, his eyes wide and mouth slack. 

“Brienne--”

“You go down on me every time,” she interrupts, a touch breathlessly. “I--I want to know what it’s like.” She swallows heavily. “Unless you don’t--”

“Gods, no,” he says, cupping her cheek. “Of course I want you to.” 

She turns and places a kiss against his palm before hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down his legs. The feel of him in her hand is nothing new, she knows exactly how to pleasure him in every single way--except for this one. She doesn’t bother to say _I’ve never done this_. Jaime knows, and strangely, _she_ knows she doesn’t have anything to apologize for if it’s awkward at first, or if it takes her time to get it right.

“Oh _fuck_,” Jaime groans as Brienne licks his cock from base to tip. She wraps her lips around him and looks up. His head is back, his hands clenching the countertop in a white-knuckled grip as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

She goes by instinct, what little she has, and by the sounds Jaime makes, his guttural exclamations that come from deeper and deeper in his chest as she takes him as far as she can and sucks, moving her head back and forth while stroking with her hand. He doesn’t touch her, though, even as his moans become desperate, the words fading into something incoherent. 

Brienne leans away, sucking in a deep breath. Jaime looks down, face almost wild with astonished pleasure.

“Touch me,” Brienne says, her voice raw, nearly rasping. 

Almost hesitantly, he moves one of his hands from the counter and brushes his knuckles across her cheek before he cups the back of her head gently, carding his fingers through her hair. She keeps her eyes locked with his as she wraps her lips around him again. The noise he makes sounds like he’s been punched in the gut. His hip stutters against her hand in aborted thrusts, like he can’t help the urge to move with her, but even more can’t stand the idea of doing something to overwhelm her. 

She can tell he’s close, she knows his moans and groans and grunts so well by now, knows what it means when he doesn’t realize he’s mumbling repeated praise. She moans herself, not only from the taste and feel of him in her mouth, but from the knowledge that even as he comes apart in her embrace, he still cares as much if not more for her enjoyment.

Jaime takes her hand wrapped around the base of his cock and tugs lightly until she takes her mouth from him. “Don’t want to come in your mouth,” he tells her, drawing her to her feet. 

He kisses her desperately once she’s standing, spinning them and pressing her back against the vanity. He pushes her pajamas and underwear off, sighing happily against her mouth when his fingers find her already wet. She sits back on the counter and opens her legs to bring him into the cradle of her thighs. 

Jaime enters her with a moan, holding her close so that he only moves shallowly, seemingly more intent on being close to her than anything else. Brienne curls her legs and arms around him, holding him just as tightly, moving with the gentle, rolling rhythm he’s established. 

He slips a hand between their bodies and strokes her clit until she cries out against his shoulder while he murmurs, “oh fuck, fuck,” into her hair. When he comes with a choked grunt, he holds her so hard it nearly hurts. He pants against her, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart beating a heavy, frantic rhythm she can hear when she rests her face against his chest. 

Jaime lifts her face with two fingers beneath her chin. There’s something in his gaze as he looks at her for a long moment, some heaviness that suggests things left unsaid. She braces herself, just a little, for what’s to come, but all he says is, “You’re amazing,” and leans in to kiss her hungrily, all teeth and lips and bruising pressure. 

+

Brienne insists they can’t make a habit of weeknight sleepovers. She manages to stick to her guns in at least this one respect for a few weeks. It doesn’t stop Jaime from _looking_ at her like he wants to drag her back to the supply closet, but it at least puts the brakes on the part of Brienne that increasingly aches to never leave Jaime’s home. 

After a weekend that leaves her still tender on Monday morning, Brienne all but floats into the office. There’s someone’s back half sticking out from under the break room sink. 

“Excuse me?” Brienne asks. She wouldn’t bother, except that he’s blocking her way to the coffee pot.

The man who pops his head out from the cabinet looks like one of the Wildlings from the fairytales she heard as a child. He’s got a red beard that reaches the center of his chest, with matching hair that looks as if it’s never seen a brush. The look he gives her makes her skin crawl. 

“Damn, you’re a big woman.” Instead of the typical cruelty that accompanies such a statement, he says it the same way most men speak of large breasts. 

“I need to get to the coffee pot,” Brienne says, trying to redirect the conversation. 

The man clambers to his feet and moves until he’s way too close for comfort. Brienne can’t decide if it’s better or worse to take a step back. She doesn’t want him to think for a second that she’s intimidated by him, but she also doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. 

He sticks his hand out for her to shake. “Name’s Tormund.” When she doesn’t respond right away, he says, “I’m here to unclog the drain.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the sink, as if she needs clarification. 

“Are you almost done?” she asks shortly, looking past him. 

“So, that’s how it is.” He hums to himself. “I was just finishing up.” He crawls back beneath the sink. Several minutes, and more than a handful metal-on-metal clanking noises, he emerges again, a triumphant smile on his face. “All done.”

She eyes him as he packs away his tools before testing the drain. When he finally finishes it all, he takes a moment to write something down before turning back to her. He hands her a blank receipt with a phone number scrawled across it in chicken-scratch writing. 

“What’s this?” Brienne asks.

“It’s my number. I’d like to take you out,” Tormund says, still too close to her. “I’ll show you a good time.”

“I’m already dating someone,” Brienne blurts out. 

“He man enough for you?” Brienne can’t prevent the blush at the memory of Jaime’s desperate kisses and eager tongue and enthusiastic thrusts. She startles when Tormund lets out a heavy, shockingly loud laugh. “That answers that then.” 

She finds herself tongue-tied, unsure how to extricate herself from the situation. 

“Well,” Tormund says. “If you ever get sick of the man, you have my number.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she says, hoping her voice sounds kind and not as grossed-out as she feels.

She leaves before he has a chance to speak to her again, and walks back to her office, faintly trembling. It’s only when she sits at her desk that she remembers the words she said to Tormund. That she’s _dating_ someone. That word sticks in her craw, lodging uncomfortably and reminding her that she and Jaime still don’t--that they’re just--she doesn’t know anymore. They’re something more than just fucking, but they haven’t said anything specific about what that something more _is_. 

Brienne does the only thing that makes any sense and texts Sansa.

_B: Can I come over tonight?_

Sansa’s response is almost instantaneous. _**It’s monday**_

_B: I know_

_ **S: What’s wrong** _

** __ ** _B: I don’t want to text it B: Its okay if you don’t have time_

** _S: No I have time I’m just worried_ **

** __ ** _B: Don’t worry its not that kind of problem. I’ll be over after work_

\--

By the time she gets to Sansa’s apartment, all she wants is a blanket and a hug. Luckily for her, Sansa’s been her friend long enough that she already has the necessary provisions on the couch and her arms open for Brienne. She keeps her arm around Brienne’s waist as she walks them to the couch. 

Sansa manages to wait until they’re curled up on the couch, properly swaddled in blankets, before she asks, “What in the _seven hells_ is going on?”

Brienne closes her eyes and draws in a shuddering breath. “You have to promise that you won’t freak out, okay?”

“Oh gods, are you _pregnant_?”

“_What_?!” Brienne’s eyes pop open a millisecond before she bursts into near-hysterical laughter.

She laughs until she cries, so damned thankful to release any amount of the tension that’s built in her over the last several weeks. When she finally calms down, she looks at Sansa and the confusion and worry on Sansa’s face almost sends her over the edge again.

Until Sansa says, “How would I know?” 

Her tone is sharp enough that Brienne flinches. 

Sansa sighs deeply. “I would say that wasn’t fair, but I think it was. I’ve barely seen you in _weeks_. You’re supposed to be my best friend. I don’t need to see you every single day, but more than once every few weeks would be _nice_.”

Brienne swallows, swamped with guilt at how right Sansa is. She feels even worse that she didn’t give more consideration to Sansa. “I’m sorry,” Brienne says. “I’m not pregnant, though.”

“Well,” Sansa says, and shifts again, still looking angry, but at least a little mollified at Brienne’s apology. “What _is_ going on?”

“I really need you to keep this a secret,” Brienne tells her. “Please, Sansa. It’s important.”

“I promise.”

Brienne knows Sansa means it. Sansa’s not faultless, but when she swears to something, she keeps it on pain of death. 

“I need advice.” 

“Okay,” Sansa replies, drawing out the ‘a’ sound for so long that Brienne gives her a deeply unimpressed look. 

“The man I’ve been sleeping with,” Brienne begins, hating how tight her throat clenches, “it’s … _complicated_. That’s why I couldn’t tell you who it was.” 

“Complicated, like…?”

“Like I work with him,” Brienne admits. Sansa’s eyebrows draw, her head tilted in confusion. Brienne grimaces. “I work _for_ him.” Sansa’s whole face transforms in the blink of an eye. Brienne’s positive she could have slapped Sansa, and Sansa would be less shocked. “It was _my_ idea,” she says quickly, before Sansa can assume the worst. “But it was just supposed to be the one time. Only, then…”

Sansa’s eyes seem to get wider with every new statement from Brienne. 

Brienne flushes, but she still can’t quite keep from smiling a little. “It’s..._good_.” Sansa makes an amused noise and Brienne glares at her. “Not that I have a lot to compare it to, but…” Brienne looks Sansa square in the eye before she says firmly, “Jaime would never push himself on me or anyone else that works for him. I asked him first, and when it kept happening--I know Jaime, he would never use it as a bargaining tool or blackmail. He’s not like that.”

Sansa sets her hand over Brienne’s where it lies on the back of the couch. “You have better judgment than anyone else I know, maybe even better than my parents. If you tell me you’re okay, I believe you.” 

Brienne’s shoulders finally relax, her chest deflating with relief. “Thank you.”

“Is that why you needed to come over?” 

“Not quite.” Brienne swallows. “I--” she stops, the words seeming to catch in her throat. She’s spent so long bottling it all up, it’s hard to know where to start. “It really is casual. We’re not dating or anything, we just--” Brienne grimaces. “Hook up?” It sounds like such a cheap term for what they do, like it should be happening on the couch in her dad’s basement. “And I know--I know it’s not uncommon for people to get confused and put too much meaning to these sorts of things.” She gnaws at her bottom lip, teeth catching at her chapped skin. “I’ve been really careful about maintaining boundaries, and remembering what this is for both of us, but…”

“But what?” Sansa asks, gentle but insistent.

“I spend a lot of Fridays and Saturdays at his place. That’s why I haven’t been around as much and why I’ve been such a shitty friend.” Sansa quirks an eyebrow, not remotely jumping in to tell Brienne she’s not a shitty friend. “It’s--it _was _ supposed to just be stress relief,” Brienne continues, but it sounds wrong to her even as she says it. “I’m not _good_ at this, but I think…”

“What do you think?” Sansa asks, more gently, as if sensing how out of her depth Brienne feels.

“I don’t want it to be just stress relief,” she confesses, quietly. 

“Do you know that he does?” 

Brienne shrugs helplessly. 

“You could ask him,” Sansa suggests. She sounds surprisingly sincere, considering it should be an obvious suggestion. Even Brienne realizes that. It _should_ be that simple. 

“Wouldn’t he ask _me_ if he--”

“_Brienne_,” Sansa interrupts her, an expression on her face that is almost comical in how reminiscent it is of Catelyn’s own _don’t be ridiculous_ look. “He’s your boss. You said _you_ know he would never pressure you or use it against you, but does _he_ know that you know that?”

Brienne blinks at her. Somehow, it’s never occurred to her that Jaime would be at all concerned about that anymore. It’s been so long now, and they’re...well, that’s the problem in the end. Brienne _doesn’t_ know what they are. 

“I don’t know,” she says finally. 

“Then you should probably, oh, I don’t know, _talk_ to him?” Sansa rarely sounds sarcastic, so when she does, it stings just a little bit extra. 

“How?”

“Gods,” Sansa groans. “Just talk to him the next time he comes over. You can ask him after sex when he’s all relaxed.”

The very idea of it makes Brienne feel queasy with panic. “I don’t want to lose him,” she confesses. 

“Can you count it as losing him if you never really have him?”

\--

Brienne waits for the perfect moment, but, of course, it never comes. Every time she opens her mouth to ask Jaime--she doesn’t even know _what_ she’s asking. _Are we dating_? sounds presumptuous. _Do you want to date?_ sounds juvenile, somehow. _What _are_ we?_ seems aggressive. So she doesn’t say _anything_. 

She doesn’t say anything because it’s so _good_. It’s good and it’s fun and it gives her a sense of power she never knew she was missing. The fact that she _knows_ she can break Jaime into pieces until he’s shuddering beneath her because of her hands, or her mouth, or what lies between her thighs makes her feel like she could swim across the narrow sea or hike across the great deserts of Essos. 

Things are good. Things are _great_. And then Jaime strolls into her office and shuts the door. Her mouth goes dry, the way it always does when he has that look on his face. He sprawls in the seat across from her, a small, thrilling smile on his lips. 

She cracks, breaking the silence after an embarrassingly short amount of time. “Yes?”

“I have a burst pipe.” It sounds ludicrously filthy the way he says it. “The plumber can’t come until Monday, so I’m afraid my apartment is out of commission for this weekend.”

“Oh.” Brienne can’t help the wave of disappointment, but surely she can go almost two weeks without having sex with him. She went thirty years without; surely thirteen days is nothing. 

“I was hoping I could come to your place,” he says a bit hesitantly.

Brienne freezes. She can’t seem to form words through the sudden panic. She’s stupidly hoped that somehow he would never ask, and, even more unlikely, that he would never notice she was always at his place. She stares as Jaime’s face closes off to her. She thought she felt panicked before, but now…

Now it’s his turn to say, “Oh.” He braces his hands on the arms of her chair to lever himself up, and it’s the idea of him walking away from her that finally breaks through the fog of worry.

“Wait,” she says, placing her hands palm down on her desk, grounding herself before she speaks. “My apartment--it’s my safe space.” Jaime’s brow furrows slightly, but he waits for her to continue. “It’s the one place that I feel completely comfortable at all times. It’s always been my haven. If we--if you--if..._fuck_.” Jaime’s eyebrows shoot up at frustrated curse. She clenches her jaw. 

“It’s okay,” Jaime says, his voice resigned, quiet--sad, maybe. “You don’t have to explain.”

“Yes, I do,” she grits out. “I can’t--” She curls her hands into fists, angry at the way her tongue seems to twist itself into knots when all she wants is to confidently demand answers. “If what we’re doing means nothing, I can’t let you in.” Brienne can’t make herself ask him directly and open herself up for that kind of rejection. She thinks it might crumble something deep within her. She does make herself look him directly in the eye as he processes what she said. She swears she can see his pulse thumping against the thin skin of his throat, his expression carefully blank, as if he thinks she’s _rejecting _him. Her heart nearly pounds out of her chest as she summons every ounce of courage to say, “I really want to let you in.”

“It means something,” he finally says, his voice choked. There’s fear in his expression somehow, like maybe he’s just as scared of vulnerability as she is. “I want you,” he continues, voice raspy. “You’re the only one I want.” 

She can hear her own heartbeat. Her hands shake as she asks, “Do you want to come to my place this weekend?”

Jaime’s smile is nearly blinding as he says, “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, thanks to a tumblr request, I re-wrote the first chapter of this fic from Jaime's POV. You can[ find it over here in my collection of tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21243149/chapters/50630258) prompt fills.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been an absolute _beast_. I finally had to do a much rougher draft that normal and bethanyactually did the Lord's work on this thing to get it to where it is. It's by far the hardest chapter, but also the plottiest. So I hope you all enjoy it, even after the longer-than-usual delay in getting it up.

Brienne’s apartment is very _her_.

Jaime didn’t expect anything in particular, but the minute he follows her through the doorway, it’s like being introduced to her all over again. He can’t help but smile as his eyes take in her living room, finally reaching her face. She looks...uneasy, maybe wary, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen in months. He closes the distance between them and kisses her with all of the tenderness that floods his veins with warmth.

“I like your place,” he murmurs.

He can feel her muscles relax beneath his palms.

“Thank you,” she says.

He kisses her again, as softly as he pleases. He pulls away and smiles teasingly before turning back to the room and beginning a slow circle of the perimeter. 

It’s not a busy room. There are a few black-and-white photographs of lighthouses he assumes are on Tarth; a carefully organized bookshelf filled with an intriguing combination of legal histories and romance novels; a few carefully placed tchotchkes; and finally, on the wall opposite the door, a line-up of what seem to be family pictures. There’s one of Brienne wearing a cap and gown and an older, barrel-chested man with a face-splitting grin. Another photo is of Brienne and three other people about her age, a red-haired woman, a brunette man, and another man with a mop of curly light brown hair. 

The last photo features what Jaime presumes is... “Your family?” he asks. 

Brienne doesn’t answer right away, and when Jaime looks at her, there’s a gentle sadness in her eyes. 

“Yes,” she says when she realizes he’s looking at her. “That’s my dad, Selwyn.” Brienne reaches over to point out each person as she speaks. “My brother, Galladon.” She moves her finger past the little girl he surmises must be her, her freckles and bright blue eyes familiar even if the beaming grin is not. “My sisters, Alysanne and Arianne,” she points to the toddlers, identical twins with shocks of blonde curls. “And my mother, Laena.” 

“Do they all live on Tarth?”

“No.” She pulls in a deep breath, her expression distant before she says, “My dad still does. My mom and siblings...” she presses her lips together until they turn white. He reaches out to her, linking their hands together and squeezing. She looks at him with a trembling half-smile. “They died in a car accident. It’s how I got,” she runs her finger down the bridge of her nose, over the crooked hump in the middle. 

He’s asked before, early in her time at the firm, in an attempt to bond with her. Though he didn’t know, he can’t help but feel more than a small measure of guilt at asking in the first place. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning closer to her. 

She shrugs her shoulders, though it’s half-hearted at best. “It was a long time ago. I was only eight when it happened. After that it was just me and my dad.” 

“I was eight when my mom died,” he says. “It never stops hurting. I just think about it less now.”

She blinks, her mouth slackening with surprise. “I didn’t know.”

He smiles ruefully. “We don’t know much about each other,” he says. “I know your credentials and I know that you’re a great employee, a kind person. I know that I’ve never experienced anything quite like what we have.” He glances down at their hands before lifting his eyes to hers once again. “But I don’t know anything about your childhood or your friends, your favorite movies or music. What you do when you’re not with me or at the office.” He rubs his thumb against the thin skin of her wrist, where her pulse thumps steadily. “I’d like to know you better.” 

“I’d like that, too,” she says quietly. 

She gets them both cups of tea and leads him to her couch, and for the first time, it seems, they have a real conversation. They sit facing one another on her sofa, arms against the back of it, and she links her fingers through his as he tells her about his divorce. How he married his college sweetheart the year he graduated from law school. How he found out just over a year later that she had been cheating for years. How the divorce only got ugly during the division of assets, his father infuriated he hadn’t signed a prenup. How the divorce made him reluctant to trust; made it difficult to put himself out there again. 

In turn, she tells him about growing up on such a small island, about the insular community and the mocking and bullying of other children. How the high-school football team made a bet to trick her into sleeping with one of them. How she had to move away for university, desperate to escape the suffocating, tormenting environment. How she felt guilty for abandoning her father when they were both so lonely already. How she never felt comfortable trusting men who showed interest because of those terrible boys in high school. How she never learned to trust others until Sansa came along and showed her what friendship could truly be. 

Jaime watches her face, memorizes the flash of each emotion that slips across her features as she describes her life before she met him. When she finishes, her eyes dart away for a minute, her mouth firming as she swallows, before she looks him in the eye again. He knows then, _knows_ when he looks at her and knows he’s seeing her without walls and defenses between them. He sets his tea on the coffee table and holds out his hand questioningly for her mug. She hands it to him, a curious look in her eyes. 

He takes her hand once he’s set her mug down as well. He stares at their clasped hands for a moment before raising his eyes to her face again. She looks wary. “I’m going to say something.” He takes a breath, steadying himself. “I think we’re on the same page, but I want to make my feelings very clear.”

“Okay,” she says almost soundlessly. 

“This means more than just_ something_,” he says, soft but certain, “and I’m tired of guessing and being cautious.” 

Brienne’s eyelids flutter rapidly, but she waits for whatever he’s about to say. 

"I want to be your _partner._” Then, just so she doesn’t have a chance to misinterpret the word, “Or your boyfriend, your significant other, whatever term you prefer. _That’s_ what I want.”

She doesn’t say anything. Without warning, she surges forward and kisses him heavily, her hands cupping his face. He kisses her back, tangling a hand in her hair, and holding her waist with the other. For the first time, the hunger that grows within isn’t that craving to be inside her and feel her naked flesh surrounding him. Now it’s just a need for her to be close, to hold her with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to pretend he doesn’t want it all: her hair a soft cloud on his pillows, a spare set of clothes that just stays at his place and vice versa, making sure he knows how she takes her coffee so he can have it ready for her in the morning, every stupid throwaway thing you take for granted when you’re with someone openly.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says softly, breaking the kiss. 

She nods and pulls him off the couch by their joined hands. She takes him to her bedroom, a comforting place of soft greens and blues and pale wood, with a painting of the cliffs of Tarth hanging over her bed. They undress each other slowly, kissing between each garment, but without any _intent_ behind it other than getting ready for sleep. When they’re down to their underwear, he draws her with him to lie on the bed and tugs her close, curling into her body and drifting to sleep in the warmth of their embrace. 

\--

The next morning, they wake still curled around each other, and it’s nothing to come together. It’s gentle, the slow rocking of their bodies together in the faint sunlight coming through the curtains. It’s another form of comfort, the way she wraps a leg over his hip, the way she sighs against the top of his head. It’s peace when she comes with an aborted groan, and holds him close when he finally shudders through his own climax. 

She only rises from the bed when their breathing slows and their sweat-slick skin sticks together uncomfortably. She returns from the hallway with a towel for him. 

“I’ll take the second shower,” she says. “I’ll make coffee while you’re in there.” 

Jaime’s hair is still damp from the shower when he walks into the kitchen to find Brienne frowning at her phone. 

“Everything okay?” 

Brienne’s head snaps up, her thumb automatically pressing the button to lock her phone. The guilty, uncertain look on her face makes his chest feel too tight. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times before she finally says, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay,” he says, trying to sound like he’s not keeping his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. He leans on the counter across from her, within arm’s reach, but leaving enough distance she doesn’t feel crowded. 

“I told Sansa,” she blurts out. “About us. I--I needed to talk to someone about all of this,” she circles her hand in the air as if to encompass everything that’s happened between them. 

“Okay,” he says again, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Okay?” 

His brows furrow. “Is that all?”

“I thought--it’s just--we’ve kept it private,” she says, her tone finally unwinding. “I didn’t want to risk us.”

“Right.” He takes a breath. He knows it can’t last forever, but he also doesn’t know what the hell will happen if he tells Ilyn and Addam, or _how_ to tell them. “We should figure out how we’re going to tell Addam and Ilyn, too. If we’re actually together, they’ll have to know eventually.”

“Of course,” she says. She looks past him for a moment.. Finally, her eyes focus on him again. “Could we wait until after the Greyjoy case? I don’t want either of us to be moved off of it if they suddenly have concerns about our working relationship.” She swallows. “And if they react poorly, I would rather finish the case before having to--” her mouth twists “--look for another firm.”

“Look for another firm?” Jaime stares at her mildly aghast. He’s worried about Addam’s reaction to _him_ for sleeping with an employee, but he never considered that Brienne would worry about her own job. But of course she has. _Fuck_. He’s an idiot. “Addam won’t punish _you_ for this. If anyone suffers the consequences, it will be me and me alone.” 

Brienne looks skeptical. “I’ve been just as much a part of this as you.”

“But you’re not a partner at the firm,” he says. “You’re not a deciding factor in the progression of my career. I’m the one that would rightly be held accountable. Think about it from an outside perspective. I would look little better than Aerys Targaryen.”

“You are _not_\--”

“No,” he agrees. “But I am technically your boss, and I’ve been sleeping with you in secret for months now. It doesn’t look great for me.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. 

“Why are _you_ sorry?” he asks, more vehemently than necessary if Brienne’s reaction is anything to go on. “Brienne,” he says more gently, “this time with you has been the best thing to happen to me in years. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve felt this--” he can’t quite think of the word. Instead he says, “If it wasn’t worth it, I wouldn’t be willing to risk my place at my own firm for you.”

“You shouldn’t risk that,” she says, her mouth tight and eyes worried. 

“Yes, I should,” he says firmly. “For you, I absolutely should.”

She looks floored, as if he’s shocked her somehow with something that should be obvious by now. He braces himself for her reaction, but all she says is, “Sansa wants to meet you.”

“Sure,” he agrees readily. “When?”

“Soon.” Brienne sounds like she’s headed for the gallows. It’s very...endearing. “Dinner this week?”

“Whenever,” he says, shifting closer to her. “We all but have the same schedule. I’m at your disposal.” 

She smiles and kisses him. “Thank you,” she murmurs against his mouth. 

\--

Brienne had given Jaime three options for dinner with Sansa. Wednesday night was a definite no; there’s no way Jaime could make the best impression mid-week. This left Friday or Saturday, and since Friday suffers from also being a workday, Jaime chooses Saturday. He arrives at the restaurant on the designated night to find Sansa and Brienne already tucked into a table in the corner waiting on him. 

He wasn’t nervous to meet Sansa until he’s standing in front of her. She’s a good bit shorter than him, and much more delicate in build that either him or Brienne. Yet the look she gives him skewers him as effectively as any he’s received before. 

Still, he smiles and offers a hand for her to shake. “I’m Jaime.”

“I assumed. Sansa,” she says, her grip surprisingly strong as she shakes his hand. 

He likes her immediately. She gestures and he takes the empty seat, leaving his back facing the door. Jaime wonders if someone told her one of the best ways to keep someone on edge is to make them sit with their back facing the doorway. Judging by the cold, calculating look in her eyes, he thinks she must know.

“So you’re the reason my best friend doesn’t have time for me anymore,” Sansa says bluntly as soon as his napkin is in his lap.

“Sansa,” Brienne protests. 

Jaime reaches over to pat her thigh under the table. “I am,” he says calmly. “Though it was an unintended side effect.”

“Hmm,” Sansa hums. “And you’re her boss?”

“_Sansa_,” Brienne says sharply.

Jaime can’t keep the smile off his face at the look of mortified anger on Brienne’s face. “Yep.”

“You didn’t think it was inappropriate to sleep with your employee?” 

Brienne makes a choked noise and Jaime looks at her again to find her red from her hairline to the collar of her shirt. 

“No, I knew it was inappropriate,” Jaime says. “But Brienne isn’t _just_ my employee.” 

Sansa arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“She’s one of three people in the world that I trust implicitly.” Jaime can’t take his eyes off Brienne as she looks at him, her expression soft and warm. “We’ve spent so much time working together, treating each other as equals, it’s hard to remember that she _is_ my employee instead of a fellow partner. There’s_ no one_ I respect more.” 

Brienne’s expression calms, a small smile touching the corners of her mouth. Jaime turns to find Sansa’s expression nearly soft, the sharp angry edges of it smoothed into a kind of serenity. 

“Okay,” Sansa says, nodding, but she picks up her knife and points it at him with a loose wrist. “But if you hurt her, I _will _eviscerate you. My parents raise direwolves, and they wouldn’t mind loaning me one to dispatch some asshole that’s hurt Brienne. She’s part of our family and we protect the pack above all others.” 

“I’ll cut my own neck to make it easier for your direwolf to find me,” Jaime says easily. “I can’t promise I’ll never hurt her, but I can promise to never hurt her on purpose.”

Sansa’s mouth draws into a moue, but after a long piercing look she sighs and says, “Fine.”

After that, things go a little more smoothly. Once Sansa drops the intimidation tactics, it turns out she’s very nice and clearly loves Brienne to the far reaches of Asshai and back. Jaime can respect that level of intelligence. She’s also secretly very cutting and has a spine of steel that Jaime’s not sure he would ever want to challenge in earnest. 

After dinner, when they’re waiting outside for the valet to bring the cars around, Sansa squares her shoulders, looks Jaime directly in the eyes and says, “You can stay.” 

“Thanks,” he says dryly, but she simply lifts an eyebrow as if daring him to keep talking. 

Sansa’s car arrives first. As soon as she’s out of sight, Brienne faces Jaime and says, “I’m sorry,” in such an aggrieved tone, he can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be,” he says with a shrug. “She seems like she’s a good friend.”

“She’s the best.”

“I like her.” He smiles and closes the very little distance between them, grinning up at her. “I’m the partner at one of the top law firms in Westeros. I’ve been intimidated more for _much_ worse reasons.” 

Brienne smiles softly. Jaime leans up to kiss her. She stiffens the moment his lips touch hers, and he pulls away to look at her, confused and concerned. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “I’m not used to doing things in public.” She shrugs apologetically. “I wasn’t expecting it and… It’s fine. I was just surprised.”

He tangles their fingers together and squeezes. “Not everyone likes public displays of affection.”

She releases a heavy breath, relaxing again.

“Can you come over tonight?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I have a movie night planned with Sansa.” She bites her lip. “Tomorrow at my place?” 

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” he says quietly.

The valet arrives with her keys, and she takes them with a grateful smile, passing a tip to him. Jaime’s entire body begs for him to kiss her goodbye, but he doesn’t want to ruin the easy expression on her face again. Instead he reaches out and clasps her hand for one final squeeze. “Have a fun night with Sansa.”

She squeezes his hand back tightly. “Good night, Jaime.”

\--

Jaime startles awake at the noise of someone pounding on his front door, and checks his phone to see that it’s after midnight.. He stumbles out of bed, yanking on the jeans he wore to dinner and grumbling his way through his living room and the foyer, the infernal knocking not letting up for more than a few seconds.

He throws open his front door, ready to dress down whoever is pounding on it. It’s clearly not Brienne. She knocks politely _and_ she texts or calls before coming over. It’s Addam standing there, a strange expression on his face that Jaime doesn’t recognize. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaime asks, utterly baffled. 

Addam shoves his way past Jaime, rounding to face him barely inside the hallway. Jaime only has the door half-shut when Addam asks, “What’s going on with you and Tarth?”

Jaime rolls his eyes even as a knot forms in his throat. “For the love of the gods, Addam.” He crosses his arms over his chest. He hates lying, even by omission, to one of the few friends he has. He has no choice, though. “We’ve already had this conversation. More than once.” 

“Nothing’s going on?” Addam asks sharply. “So it was a _different_ very tall, blonde woman you had dinner with tonight?” 

Panic floods Jaime’s veins with an icy chill. 

“You’re _positive_ it wasn’t Tarth you kissed goodbye?” 

“How do you--”

“Really, Jaime?” Addam asks, aggravation clear in his tone. “That’s your question? _How_ I know.” He shakes his head. He’s wearing an expression of the kind of disappointment that Jaime thought only his father was capable of directing his way. “I really thought you were better than this.” 

“I can explain,” Jaime says, trying to swallow even as his throat tightens painfully. “It’s not what you clearly think it is.”

“So you didn’t take _our_ employee to dinner?” Addam asks scathingly. “And you didn’t kiss her goodnight only to have her jerk away from you like she wasn’t expecting it?” 

Jaime opens his mouth to stop whatever train of thought Addam’s mind has hopped on. 

“Don’t bother with whatever excuse you have tonight. First thing Monday morning: you, me, and Ilyn. I only came here to tell you in person--a courtesy you don’t deserve, but I thought it was better than causing a scene at the office.” 

“Addam,” Jaime says, finally finding his voice when Addam is already halfway out the door. “Please don’t hold this against Brienne. She doesn’t deserve that.”

If possible, Addam looks even more disappointed and a touch disgusted with him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jaime.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes about stuff glanced over!
> 
> 1) Jaime and Brienne's backstories aren't detailed here simply because I want to make it clear that these aren't the important factors in their relationship. Not _knowing_ these things is the big factor, not the content of them. _However_, if anyone wants a longer bullet-point headcanon about anything, I'm more than willing to do so. (Especially since, I suspect, people will have questions about Jaime's divorce.)
> 
> 2) Brienne's mother's name is from Tarth's history. There was a Targaryen named Laena married to one of a former Evenstar. Since she has no canon name, I figured I would go with something I haven't seen other places that has a reason behind it!
> 
> 3) I've never done a cliffhanger of any sort for this fic, and I feel a bit evil doing so, but not evil enough to not do it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes finally act like adults.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, enormous amounts of thanks to bethanyactually. I will never fail to thank her in an A/N because she is the best, not just as a beta but as a general person, too. This fic is finally winding down. I've been working on this little monster since _September_. I really can't quite believe it's almost over. This has been the most rewarding writing experience I've had. The amount of support and feedback I've received is overwhelming. I'm a little behind on comments, but please know that with every single little alert I get, it makes my day just that much better.

There’s a text from Jaime waiting for Brienne when she wakes up. 

_Jaime: We need to talk_

Brienne’s stomach sinks. She’s seen enough movies and read enough books to know those words can be a harbinger of doom. She texts back, _everything okay?_

_J:_ _No J: Can you come over_

_ **B: Of course ** _

** _B: I’ll be there soon_ **

Brienne’s stomach roils with anxiety the entire drive to Jaime’s house. He opens the door at her first knock and the look on his face does nothing to quell her fears. He looks exhausted, frustrated, and unhappy.

“What’s wrong?” Brienne asks him, searching his tired face for some clue. She knows, surely, nothing happened overnight to make him--

“Addam knows,” he says bluntly. 

Somehow, her stomach sinks and her heart leaps into her throat simultaneously. “How?” she asks shakily.

“He saw us outside the restaurant.” Jaime runs a hand through his hair. “Or someone else saw us. Either way, he knows what happened outside the restaurant.” 

“Oh.” Brienne can’t seem to find words, her mind blank with the shock. 

“There’s more,” Jaime says hesitantly. His face is drawn tight with stress, and maybe fear. “He thinks--” Jaime swallows and breaks eye contact. “He thinks I’m taking advantage of you.” 

“_What_?” Brienne blinks at him, confusion suffusing her. 

“He thought I was making a pass at you,” Jaime explains, voice gravelled. “He thought I was _pressuring_ you.” 

“Jaime…” Brienne doesn’t know what to say. The idea that _Addam_ would think _Jaime_ would ever do such a thing… She knows how important Addam is to Jaime and vice versa, and the guilt of her involvement--it was all her idea, and--

Jaime’s hand takes hers, drawing it toward him and pulling her attention with it. His expression isn’t one of irritation or anger or frustration; it’s warm and loving and everything that he’s come to mean to her. 

“I can tell what’s running through your mind,” he says, squeezing her hand. “We’re in this together. You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not your fault that Addam jumped to the wrong conclusion. It’s not your fault he didn’t bother to talk to me about it first.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Jaime says easily. “I have a meeting with Addam and Ilyn first thing tomorrow morning. I just wanted to tell you myself and reassure you that no matter what happens, none of this will be held against you.” He pauses and looks at her, his eyes narrowing. “What?”

She blinks, wondering what he managed to read in her expression. “I’m coming with you,” she says firmly. Jaime’s mouth barely opens before she keeps talking. “This isn’t anyone’s _fault_, but I started this. I don’t regret a single second of it, and I won’t let you fall on your own damn sword.” 

He looks so affronted she can’t help but laugh. 

“Don’t even pretend,” she tells him, the affection bubbling in her chest. “You would absolutely fall on your sword if you thought it would protect me. I won’t allow it.” She turns her hand in his loose grasp, grips him tightly and draws him to her, close enough to kiss him. “We’re in this together now, right?”

He kisses her fiercely, his other hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. He leans away to press his forehead to hers. “Together.”

Brienne takes his hands in her own and pulls him close, until they’re pressed together, and traces the familiar lines of his face. She doesn’t know when the way he looks at her became her favorite sight, but every time he gazes up at her and she can see the warmth and affection in his eyes, it feels like all of the stresses fade away to a faint whisper.

She steps away but doesn’t release his hands. “Come with me,” she says softly and leads him to the bedroom. 

The warmth of his mouth, the feel of his skin against her own, the firm press of palms on her hips, all of it feels like coming home now. He knows just how to kiss her, how to touch her, and she knows his body just as well. He pulls her on top of him when he lies down, sighing happily at the weight of her. 

She takes his cock in her hand and guides it to her opening. He presses inside, her body accepting him as easy as breathing, filling her until she feels engulfed in the _rightness_ of their joining.

She finds she needs this, knowing that he’s there in the basest, most physical way, touching him and hearing him and tasting him as much as she likes until it overwhelms them both.

After, they lay bathed in the sunlight that streams through the window. It occurs to her only then that they’ve never taken the time to just hold one another in the full light of day, and she knows, as his eyes blink at her sleepily, that they’ll figure it out in the end. For better or worse, they’ll figure it out together. 

\--

Addam raises his eyebrows and then frowns when Brienne walks through the door ahead of Jaime.

“Miss Tarth,” Addam greets her, his tone just shy of questioning. 

“Mr. Marbrand,” Brienne says shortly. She nods to Ilyn, “Mr. Payne.”

She takes a seat without being invited, watching the way Addam glares at Jaime when he takes the seat to her right. 

“Miss Tarth, I’m not sure what Jaime has said--” Addam begins.

Brienne cuts him off. “Jaime didn’t ask me to come.” 

Addam lifts an eyebrow. 

“In fact,” Brienne continues, “he would probably rather I not be here. However, I’ve rarely made a habit of giving Jaime his way about anything and this didn’t seem the appropriate time to start.” 

Jaime snorts softly beside her. She valiantly refuses to give in to the smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“And you’ll excuse me if I’m a bit skeptical that I call Jaime in for a meeting regarding an inappropriate interaction with his employee, and said employee walks through the door with him.”

Brienne steadily looks Addam in the eye and then turns to do the same to Ilyn. 

“You don’t have the facts,” she says bluntly. “You either saw something or heard something that was a gross misinterpretation of the truth.”

“Jaime _hasn’t_ touched you inappropriately?” 

“No.” 

“Miss Tarth,” Addam says, his tone sharper, pointed, “I _saw_ him try to kiss you on Saturday night. That is the dictionary definition of inappropriate.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you.”

“Normal circumstances?”

Brienne braces herself, refuses to grip the arms of her chair or Jaime’s hand. “If he was only my employer and I was only his employee.”

Addam looks startled by her declaration. 

“My relationship with Jaime--it isn’t merely a working relationship anymore,” she explains hesitantly. “But that is of my own accord and has been a mutual decision by two consenting adults.” 

“All due respect,” Addam says, “but you understand why we can’t take your word alone. You may feel coerced by your superior, not to even speak of fear of retaliation, fear that it may impact your forward momentum at the firm--Miss Tarth, there are a hundred reasons for you to defend Jaime.”

“All due respect to you, sir,” Brienne says sharply. “I find it very insulting that you suddenly doubt my honesty.”

Ilyn clears his throat, making a sound for the first time. Despite knowing he was there, Brienne still starts at the noise. 

“Miss Tarth, please understand, we are not doubting your integrity,” he says, possibly more words than Brienne has heard from in her entire time at the firm. “However, Addam, Jaime, and I have seen not only the result of sexual misconduct but the ways in which it is perpetuated through ignoring obvious warning signs.” 

Brienne swallows past the sudden emotion that lodges in her throat. In her fear and anxiety, she had failed to acknowledge the history all three men have with witnessing sexual harassment and worse in the workplace, and between powerful men and the women that work for them. 

“I understand, Mr. Payne,” she says sincerely. “I appreciate the concern that you and Mr. Marbrand are showing, but it is misplaced. I’m the one that took things outside of the office. _I _asked for Jaime’s help with something after hours and he agreed to it.” 

“Something?” Addam asks sarcastically.

“Addam,” Jaime all but growls in warning.

“Irrelevant,” Brienne says easily, trying to keep the smile off her face at Jaime’s defense of her. 

“It’s not irrelevant if--”

“I’m telling you that it’s irrelevant,” Brienne insists. “It was a personal matter that had nothing to do with my work.”

“If it was that personal, then why would you approach Jaime?”

Brienne swallows, the emotions welling up in her throat. “Because I trusted him,” she says simply. “Because I _trust_ him, and he has done nothing to make me question that.” She looks over at Jaime to find his eyes trained on her, soft and warm and brimming with the same aching wonderment she’s felt for so many weeks. “You saw us on our first attempt at a date,” she says faintly, tearing her eyes away from Jaime to look at Addam and Ilyn once again. “This was _after_ discussing how we would handle things here.

“We likely made a poor decision in choosing to wait until the Greyjoy case was over. That was my idea, too.” Brienne takes a shaky breath. “I thought if you both found out about the relationship, I would, at best, be removed from the Greyjoy case or be asked to find a new job. I didn’t want that to happen. I’m proud of my work here and I admire this firm and the three of you.” 

“Be that as it may...” Addam says. 

Brienne can hear in his tone that he still doesn’t fully believe her. The frustration within her threatens to boil, but she knows that won’t do anything but make the conversation even more tense.

Before Addam has a chance to continue, Brienne interrupts, “Mr. Payne, Mr, Marbrand, you didn’t catch Jaime making a pass at me. You caught two people trying to have a nice evening together outside of work. Whatever decision you make, you need to know that. Jaime isn’t deserving of censure. You know your friend and colleague. You _know_ he’s better than the accusations you’ve made.”

Addam’s eyes remain trained on her, but Ilyn looks from her to Jaime. Brienne suddenly understands what it is that makes Ilyn so lethal in court, his gaze skewering her in place.

“Okay,” he finally says with a curt nod of his head. 

Brienne blinks. She looks from Ilyn to Addam, the latter seemingly surprised by Ilyn if his lifted eyebrows are anything to go by.

“Thank you, Miss Tarth,” Ilyn says. 

Brienne knows a dismissal when she hears one. She stands, squaring her shoulders and praying to The Warrior that her knees aren’t visibly shaking. “Thank you for your time.” She nods briskly and turns to leave. Jaime’s hand darts out and grabs hers gently. She looks from their hands, up the line of his arm to the comforting familiarity of the look in his eyes. She knows he would say thank you if he could, so she squeezes his hand firmly and hopes he knows it means he doesn’t owe her any. 

\--

Brienne has been staring uselessly at her computer for what feels like hours when someone knocks lightly on her office door. She’s not at all surprised to see Jaime there. He doesn’t look as if he’s had to reassess his entire life. 

“How did it go?” she asks him. 

She can’t read his expression when he walks through the door and closes it softly behind him. He still doesn’t say anything until he’s seated across from her. Slowly, achingly slowly, a soft smile spreads across his face. 

“We both still have jobs,” he says lightly. She thinks about throwing her paperweight at his head. He laughs at the look on her face. “I can’t make any decision regarding your compensation or upward momentum within the firm. Ilyn seems fine with the two of us continuing to work together on cases, provided the current one doesn’t blow up in our faces for personal reasons. Addam is...less certain.”

“Maybe in time,” Brienne offers. She can’t quite banish a bit of guilt over the way everything came to a head.

Jaime nods. “Maybe. He didn’t have that much to say after you left. He did pull the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ vibe.” He rolls his eyes. “He’ll get over it. You were--” he looks at her; she watches as his throat tightens on a swallow. “You were wonderful in there.”

Brienne can’t help the faint blush. “I only told the truth.”

“The whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

The smile on his face is easy, affectionate, _sweet_\--and she feels the tension within her release all at once. She didn’t realize until this moment just how long she’d felt nervous, filled with anxiety about where things were going with Jaime, what they would do, how long they could hide it...now that’s over, and the world isn’t in ashes. 

“What’s next?” 

“Paperwork,” Jaime answers. “We need to speak to HR, fill out some forms, sign disclosures, and then we get back to work.” 

\--

Brienne hasn’t had much cause to interact with their head of HR, but Sam is somehow exactly what she expected: a round-faced, soft-talking, firm but smiling sort of man. He fumbles with the printer before he finally manages to produce a Consensual Relationship Agreement. 

“I’m sure you’ll both want to review this,” he says with a smile. “What with you both being lawyers and all, but in short, it asks you to affirm that you are both agreeing that the relationship won’t impact your working relationship and that should the relationship come to an end, there will be no threat of retaliation and no change in your work relationship.” 

Jaime reaches out to slide the agreement closer so they can read it together. It’s a more formal version of what Sam said. They both agree that the relationship was entered into by mutual agreement, that they are free to terminate the relationship at any time. It’s only the line about remaining professional in the workplace that makes Brienne’s face heat, the memory of Jaime pinning her to the door of the supply closet so clear she’s worried Sam will somehow read her mind.

Jaime signs and dates the form and hands her the pen to do the same. 

“So, how long have you two been together?”

“Two weeks,” Brienne answers absently as she signs her name.

“Six months,” Jaime answers at the same time. 

Sam raises his eyebrows.

Brienne turns her head and _stares_ at Jaime. 

It takes him a minute to process what he just said. He looks from Sam to her and then back again. 

“Um,” Sam says quietly, but doesn’t seem to have any follow-up to that observation. He smiles nervously at them. 

“Two weeks _officially_,” Jaime clarifies. “But it’s been six months since I knew that…” he glances at her. “Since I _knew_.”

Brienne blushes and peers down at her hands, trying to school the grin that threatens to split her face in two. She takes a breath and brings her eyes up to meet Sam’s again. “Under Jaime’s definition,” she says and can’t prevent herself from looking at him as she says, “six months, give or take a few weeks.” 

The smile that tilts his lips is warm and just suggestive enough that she knows he’s thinking of that first night too. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Sam says. 

Brienne blinks, having almost forgotten where they were. Sam all but has his hands clutched under his chin, his face is so delighted. 

She hands him the agreement. “Is that all?”

“I believe so.” He looks between the two of them before his eyes turn soft and he says, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she says, almost questioningly, pushing herself out of the chair. 

Jaime leads the way out of the room, holding the door for her. She follows him into his office and sits in the chair across from him, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, the tension of the past twenty-four hours draining from her. 

“So,” she says, biting the inside of her lip, “so it’s official.” 

He smiles at her, relieved and warm and _happy_. She can’t help but smile back at him so wide her cheeks hurt.

“It’s official.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think it's too much of a spoiler to say that after this chapter there's only an epilogue left. I hope you'll all join me for that. It's, spoiler alert, the happy ending these two so rightly deserve. 
> 
> Oh, also, I wrote a lot of this chapter while listening to Are You by Julia Michaels. So. You can listen to that if you wanna get in my head. I'll also be sharing a We Make the Rules playlist with the epilogue!


	10. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone gets their happy ending and Jaime wants a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> The time has finally come for me to close the book on one of the most satisfying projects of my life. I have been consistently overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and support this story has received. It will never fail to amaze me how wonderful this fandom is. 
> 
> I will miss this story, but there are many more words to come from me, including tentative plans for something of a role reversal for this particular fic. 
> 
> I hope you’ll follow along for other works, but if you don’t, know I appreciated you so much during this one. 
> 
> Love,  
Sameboots/agirlnamedkeith(tumblr)/Hannah
> 
> P.S. none of this would’ve been possible without the undying support of bethanyactually ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Jaime doesn’t propose in some grand fashion. He knows Brienne too well for that. 

But he thinks about it a lot, marrying Brienne, trying marriage for a second time with someone he’s sure he loves enough to promise forever. He waits until they’re on the couch after dinner on a normal day, a year after they finally admitted they wanted to be _together_. Their fingers are lightly tangled together on the back of the couch. She’s resting her head against her arm, her eyes warm and limpid, and he just knows, so deeply it’s as much a part of him as his own blood. 

“Marry me,” he says, calmly, plainly, his heart thumping a deep, steady rhythm.

Brienne blinks, her eyes widening, surprised but not shocked. 

“I don’t care when or where or how,” he continues, “I only care that it’s you.”

She stares for a moment. He knows she’s doing what she always does, making careful, deliberate decisions. He’s not nervous, precisely, but there is something about waiting--then she smiles at him like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds.

“Yes.”

\--

Brienne’s never been more relieved than when Jaime agrees that a wedding isn’t necessary. No matter how many years she lives, she will never be comfortable in front of people without the context of a courtroom. And even that is far from her favorite part of her career. 

She doesn’t have very many people she _needs_ to see her vow to be Jaime’s and him vow to be hers. 

There are Sansa and Margaery. Brienne and Jaime both agree that Addam should be a part of it. He’s Jaime’s oldest and best friend, and once the initial shock and worry wore off (and after weeks of them proving nothing had changed), he came around in regards to their relationship. 

And there’s her father. 

Jaime looks strangely nervous when she calls Selwyn to tell him. If she didn’t know him so well, she might miss it, but she knows the tightness along his jaw and the way his thumbs rubs his middle fingers. 

“Hey dad,” she says, immediately smiling at the familiar rough voice. “I have some news.”

“Has Jaime finally made good on his promise?”

Brienne raises an eyebrow at Jaime. “His promise?”

Jaime _blushes_. If nothing else, she’ll have this moment of him being the one to finally turn pink, flushing so hard it spills past the sharp line of his jaw. 

“He promised me he was in it for the long haul.”

Brienne presses her lips together before she laughs. “The long haul?” she asks Jaime more than her father.

“I might have questioned the fact that he seemed fine with dating his employee.”

She can’t help but snort, just picturing Jaime’s face when her dad leveled him with his almost frighteningly calm, piercing stare and politely demanded to know his intentions. It’s been years since her dad felt the need to protect her, but he doesn’t get many opportunities to use his size to his advantage, and clearly derived too much pleasure from torturing Jaime. 

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know we’re getting married,” she says, smiling at the way Jaime shifts just so, waiting for whatever the reaction will be.

“Did he ask?”

“Yes.”

“Did he make a spectacle?”

“No, he asked me at home,” she says, unable to keep from biting her lip against the happiness that threatens to bubble out of her in a ridiculous giggle. “It was exactly what I wanted.”

Her dad’s silence is heavy, but he finally says, “I’m happy for you, kiddo.”

He hasn’t called her kiddo in years, and the rough, thick sound of his voice, more emotional than she’s heard in memory makes her own throat tighten. “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he says and she misses him so viscerally she thinks about hopping a flight to Tarth tonight. 

\--

“Oh gods, what now?” Addam asks them minute they step into his office. 

“Really, Addam?” Jaime asks flatly. 

“Excuse me, you both look like kids that got caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar,” Addam replies just as sardonically. “I’ve been bitten in the past.”

Brienne snorts to his right. 

“What has he talked you into?” Addam asks her, his mouth tilting into a half-smile. 

“Marrying him,” Brienne says simply. 

“No shit,” Addam says, actually grinning, teeth and all. “I knew he argued well enough to persuade juries, but I thought you were immune to him.” “Hey!” Jaime protests. It had been bad enough before Addam had accepted their relationship, and that it was one between equals; that Addam and Brienne had become a tag-team whose sole mission was to tease him was an unforeseen and not always unwelcome side effect. “And here I was going to ask you to be my best man.”

Addam raises an eyebrow. “Are you passive-aggressively asking me to be your best man right now?” 

Jaime scowls but still says, “Yes.” 

“Good. I accept.” Addam looks at Brienne. “In all sincerity, congratulations.” 

“Thank you.” Brienne smiles. 

“Have you told Tywin yet?”

“No,” Jaime says shortly. “He isn’t a high priority on the list. I’ve had the distinction of being his least favorite child for years now, so I doubt he’ll have anything pleasant to say about my engagement.”

“It’s your neck, not mine.” Addam leans back in his chair and narrows his eyes. “Can I trust you both to actually tell HR this time?” 

“Piss off,” Jaime says, but there’s no real heat to it. 

\--

It’s his idea to get married on Tarth with only their closest friends and family as witnesses. 

Their earliest plans had centered around a courthouse ceremony and a nice dinner with their friends after, but then Jaime had watched as Brienne talked to her father on the phone and the love in their few words--

“Let’s get married on Tarth,” he says while they’re making dinner one weekend. 

“Hmm?” Brienne asks absently, concentrating on mincing a clove of garlic. 

Jaime turns the burner off underneath the pot of simmering sauce and walks over to where she stands, leaning his hip on the counter. “You, me, Addam, Sansa, maybe Tyrion and Margaery. And your dad.” 

Her knife hand suddenly stills, as if her mind has just caught up to the conversation. “You want to get married on Tarth? But--”

“It’s beautiful,” he says. “And quiet. Peaceful. It’s perfect for what we need.” 

“The courthouse would be easier.”

“We spend enough of our lives in court.” He lifts his hand to cup her cheek. “I would like to get married somewhere other than the city. If not Tarth, then the Arbor or even Dragonstone. Somewhere we can take a deep breath away from the hustle and bustle of obligations and work.”

She slowly smiles, just the corners of her mouth tipping up. She presses a kiss to the hand still cupping her cheek. 

“I’ll let my dad know.”

\--

Jaime still expects to show up to Selwyn’s house and be lifted by the collar and deposited outside. He’s been a few times before, all with perfectly nice results, and yet the sight of Brienne’s father standing six-foot-seven and so barrel-chested not even Jaime’s hands would meet if wrapped around him still triggers his fight-or-flight response. 

As if to make him feel even more ridiculous, Selwyn grins at him, wide and happy, and shakes Jaime’s hand with a bruising grip. “Welcome home.”

Even more ridiculously, that makes some heavy emotion lodge in Jaime’s throat. He’s not exactly jealous of Brienne’s relationship with Selwyn, but it has highlighted exactly _how_ fucked up Tywin Lannister is, and what a number he did on all of his children. Stupidly, Jaime wants to hug Selwyn just to see what it’s like to feel that sort of warmth.

He doesn’t.

He’s a grown man, and he doesn’t have that sort of relationship with Selwyn yet, but the instinct is there all the same. 

“Thanks for having us,” Jaime says, coughing when Selwyn gives him a jovial slap on the shoulder, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Jaime is fairly certain he does it on purpose, simply to remind Jaime that no matter how much he likes him, he’s one grievous mistake away from Selwyn’s ire. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Selwyn says. “You’re marrying my daughter. My home is your home.” 

Jaime clears his throat. “Well, yes. But you didn’t have to allow our friends to stay as well.”

“Jaime,” Selwyn says seriously. “I’m happy to do it. I’m not joking. You’re family now, and family takes care of each other.” 

“I wish you had been around to tell my father that,” Jaime says with a half-hearted smile. “I think he missed that memo.”

“The good news is that you can always choose a new family if you want.” Selwyn squeezes Jaime’s shoulder tightly. “You’ve chosen us and we’ve chosen you. Now, come on. I’ve got to check the grill.”

\--

They’ll worry about how to tell Tywin later. 

For now, standing on a cliff overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, only her dad, their closest friends, and a Septon joining them, Brienne finds it impossible to care about anything outside of this moment. 

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jaime says warmly, his hands clenching around hers. “From this day until the end of my days.”

Brienne can feel her heartbeat in her lips it’s pounding so hard. Still, she’s more than certain than she’s ever been when she says, “I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.”

Before she finishes her vow, a brilliant smile spreads across his mouth, his expression happier than she’s ever seen him. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he says and cups her face, pressing his lips to hers in the sweetest of embraces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Script: if you have questions/want headcanons, feel free to drop a line on tumblr or in the comments here

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the fic is from Taylor Swift's _Lover_. I won't be taking criticism of that choice at this time. BYE.


End file.
